


We kissed with the sunrise

by Havokftw



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Ballroom Dancing, CHEOL FUCKS MERBOY JIHOON FYI, Courtship, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, First Time, Gift Giving, Historical Fantasy, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, MAGIC FISH HOLE COITUS, Memory Loss, Merboy Jihoon, Mutual Pining, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Pining, Prince Seungcheol, Sirens, Smut in chapter 4, Weird Biology, what the fuck am I doing starting a new fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-15 11:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 73,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12320148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: Is that a….That can’t be a….No way that can be a….Words well up in Seungcheol’s throat, jumbled and out-of-order, wanting to spill yet unable to. He gasps in wonder, unable to give voice to his revelation even as it looks upon him with its own two eyes.Quickly, fearfully, he glances around the beach, looking to see if anyone else is there to confirm such a finding. But it’s just him. Him and—this mermaid?Merboy, actually.





	1. He came from the ocean

From the top of the dais, Seungcheol glances around the room lazily, gauging the attendee’s reactions.

His father, his Royal highness the King, is beaming at him, supportively. The Queen seems eager, but then she always is when there is a ball; beside him Mingyu looks bored and his advisor Jisoo… well, Jisoo looks resigned.

“You’re not going to make this easy—are you?” Jisoo says, out of the corner of his mouth as he bows politely through another introduction.

“I’m here—am I not?” Seungcheol snipes. He’s doing his best not to pass his irritation along to the guests, but he knows he doesn’t look particularly welcoming as he looks over each suitor.

The ball is huge.

The Kingdom’s main hall has been turned into some sort of terrifyingly multi-coloured, expansively lit, explosion of people, and music and voices.

It’s more...it’s a lot  _more_  than Seungcheol was expecting. It’s more enough to make him ever so slightly dizzy, and possibly also disturbingly sweaty, inside his luxuriously tailored suit.

“It’s not enough to _be_ here your majesty—you need to mingle with your guests.” His tone is a little pointed, which Seungcheol can't really begrudge him. Seungcheol shrugs helplessly.

“They’re not my guests though, are they?”

Which is true, in a way. They are here to see him, to impress him. But, if it wasn’t for the Master of Ceremonies introducing each one of them as they filed in, he’d be hard pressed to identify a single one of them.

“They’re your guests technically— _you_ organised this whole _affair_.” Seungcheol huffs.

Jisoo sighs, like Seungcheol has made it sound frivolous and immature. “Yes—for _you_.”

“Hmm,” Seungcheol hums noncommittal, “I’m beginning to think you just _like_ throwing parties.”

“Well—you’re the one who rejected the idea of choosing a suitor from the portraits I had commissioned.” Jisoo says stiffly.

Seungcheol scoffs. “I’m not _picking_ my mate based on a mere portrait. It’s hardly reliable.”

Mingyu, standing beside him, clears his throat. “Wise decision Prince Seungcheol—remember the story of the nobleman who thought he was choosing a handsome husband from their portrait? And ended up marrying a horse. An _actual_ horse!”

Jisoo snorts. “Mingyu—I don’t know where you hear these tales—but they’re just not true.”

The far-sounding of trumpets signals another guests’ arrival and Seungcheol takes a deep, private breath, centring himself as he faces yet another slew of introductions.

He’s almost certain he'll never remember any of them by name, they are just a variety of different colours and levels of enthusiasm.

One of the suitors, a very tall and very loud man, in a suit so many bright shades of yellow that it makes Seungcheol’s eyes hurt if he looks at it too long, bows at him from the bottom step of the dais.

“He’s handsome.” Jisoo says, nudging him in the side gently.  “And from a respectable family in their own right.” He adds, trying to sound encouraging.

Seungcheol clicks his tongue, “Not to my taste.”

Another suitor, a girl with an unnecessarily elaborate hairstyle, curtsies and winks at him.

“What about the Baron’s daughter? Very charming.” Jisoo tries again as the girl in question sashays in front of them briefly like some sort of tall exotic bird, the hem of her dress dragging over the marbled floor in a rush of red silk and golden thread.

Seungcheol eyeballs her enormously coiffed hair, threatening to catch fire on one of the lit chandeliers. “Why is her hair so— _large_?”

Jisoo makes an airy gesture, “It’s the fashion, your Majesty.” He mumbles, attempting to indicate the girls passability.

“It’s terrifying.” Seungcheol grimaces. Jisoo doesn't laugh, but his face suggests he'd quite like to.

Mingyu leans in then, to whisper conspiratorially, “I also hear she can do this trick with her tongue and a cherry stalk that will _blow your mind_.”

Seungcheol makes a noise that is entirely too amused and Jisoo glares at him. Glares at _both_ of them.

“This is hardly the type of conversation we should be having when you’re meant to be assessing suitors.” Jisoo berates.

Mingyu sighs expansively. “I’m just trying to liven things up. It’s a very dull party Jisoo—no offence.”

Seungcheol listens half-heartedly to their bickering, feeling his stomach twist uncomfortably. He fidgets uselessly with the cuff of his pressed jacket, remembering to smile and bow politely as yet another potential suitor is paraded in front of him.

“Your highness,” Jisoo taps him gently on the arm. “I believe your father wants to personally introduce you to his Lordship and his daughter.” He says, gesturing to where Seungcheol’s father is giving him the ‘eye’.

If Seungcheol wasn’t the prince he would be purposefully dragging his feet down the steps to where his father is standing. As it is, he maintains a steady even pace while brushing his hands over spotless fabric, smoothing out invisible wrinkles and knocking away non-existent dust. As much as he doesn’t want to do this, just wants to return to the peace and quiet of his private rooms, Seungcheol isn’t about to act improper.

Things will go much smoother if he just acts out his role and does what is expected of him.

The king introduces him to an old advisor of his, Lord something or other from house whatever, and his cleavage popping heir, Lady Breasts.

Those aren’t their names, of course, and Seungcheol _knows_ he should be paying attention because his father only personally introduces him to suitors he finds most ‘appropriate’.

They'd talked about that. The listening well thing.

Granted, Seungcheol hadn't _listened_ much _while_ they were talking about it.

The girl’s pretty enough—definitely dressed for the occasion, but Seungcheol can tell she's not happy to be here. Apparently, her father withdrew his consent to allow her to marry a childhood friend once Seungcheol’s courtship was publicized.

Meddlesome fathers. _Typical_.

They try to converse, but Seungcheol’s lack of enthusiasm bleeds out like a wave, and Seungcheol’s pretty sure she isn't impressed with  _him_  either. The feeling's mutual enough— _nothing_  impresses him much these days.

“She’s very beautiful, don’t you agree?” His father commends, after they’d parted from his Lordship and begin circling the room side by side.

“Well then—why don’t _you_ marry her.” Seungcheol grumbles. He really hopes he loses that hint of petulance before he becomes king.

“ _Seungcheol_.” his father scolds, forehead denting in a deep frown, exasperated to be having the same argument once again.

“Sorry, it’s just—this all seems so— _rehearsed_.” Seungcheol says belligerently.

“It is.” His father admits. “The people do not just flock to the palace unprepared. Jisoo announced this ball _months_ ago, and every house in attendance have been preparing their unwed offspring to catch your eye since. I’m not expecting you to pick today—but I’m at least expecting you to consider your options.”

Seungcheol nods, reminding himself silently that his father is actually doing this with Seungcheol’s best interest in mind – kind enough not to force him into an arranged marriage like he had been with his mother.

Seungcheol zones out as his father rambles on, wondering what he will do if he can’t select his future spouse from the crowd in attendance. The room is full with desirable choices, but he despises the thought of having to pick the ‘love of his life’ from a chosen line-up.

* * *

 

After the final line of introductions and pleasantries, Seungcheol excuses himself.

That’s a lie actually. He doesn’t exactly _tell_ anyone he’s leaving—he just tries to escape while Jisoo’s not looking. He just wants an opportunity to allow himself to think and decide what he wants to do next, away from the pressure and expectation.

Of course, Jisoo has known him his whole life and expected as much, so Seungcheol is not surprised to find Jisoo standing just inside the door leading out of the main hall.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Jisoo asks, looking pale and purple and strangely indignant.

“Down to the sea—to drown myself.” Seungcheol says tiredly.

Jisoo is apparently impervious to sarcasm, because he looks briefly concerned that that’s what Seungcheol intends to do. But whatever had sent him out of the main hall and along the corridor seems to deflate inside him. He makes a sympathetic noise.

“I’m just—going to stretch my legs Jisoo.” Seungcheol amends, walking past him and down into the gardens. “I’ll be back.”

Jisoo follows, and seems to stretch for something else to say. “Would you like company?” He asks.

Seungcheol shakes his head carefully, not ready to deal with the conversations that will inevitably result. “No. I—just need some time alone, to think.”

Seungcheol takes a shortcut through the gardens, down through a rocky outcrop to the beach. He just needs to get away somewhere for a while, away from the palace, away from the noise and the people.

Seungcheol has always loved the gentle tug of the sea against him, begging him to walk just a bit further. Even when he is busy in-between lessons and royal obligations, he still loves to stand at the water’s edge and let the sea try to lure him in.

Now, the idea of it, the sea air, the isolation, the quiet—the appeal seems sensible enough. Better than what he can see for himself here, sulking in the palace.

He walks along the long stretch of sand by the shore, till the sand stops and pebbles and rocks take its place.

Not wishing to turn back just yet, he ventures across a few jagged rocks to where a clear pool of water has formed in the centre. The waves crash in against the largest stones, spraying sea air and foam, but they don’t quite reach the undisturbed stillness of the rockpool.

It's a good place to just sit and think—and sulk.

The water about his ankles is bitter cold as ever, even through the tough leather of his boots. But the crisp air coming in the from the north gradually chips away at his irritation, leaving his head clearer, sharper, and surprisingly Seungcheol feels his anxiety momentarily drift away.

* * *

 

Seungcheol loses track of how long he sits there looking out over the water, but the setting sun barely breaking through the thick clouds above tells him it’s time to head back.

With a sigh, Seungcheol stands from his rock and begins knocking the sand off his boots, when out of the corner of his eye, he sees a massive fish leap out of the water. He whips his head around in time to catch the tail of a marlin disappearing into the sea.

Seungcheol blinks.

That’s a fucking massive marlin. He thinks.

He shrugs, turns around and begins to climb down—when there's an almightily flapping 'smack' and Seungcheol is abruptly hit around the back of the head with something wet and slimy.

“What the fuck?”

He spins furiously, only to find a large trout flip flopping on the rock by his feet. Seungcheol frowns down at the trout for a long, quiet handful of seconds.

Somebody just through a fucking trout at him. Or—less likely—a trout decided to catapult itself out of the water and straight at his head in some kind of failed suicide attempt.

No. On second thought, that’s not very likely. Somebody threw this.

“Who threw that?” Seungcheol yells at the seagulls, like they have the answer.

Suddenly something shoots up and breaks the surface of the water, barely creating a ripple a few feet ahead of Seungcheol.

Seungcheol almost stumbles off his rock in shock.

He rights himself quickly, only to find a boy treading water idly beside his rock.

At first glance, he seems almost as young as Seungcheol, but built with different shapes. Where Seungcheol is broad and tall, the boy in the water is lithe and willowy. The water flattens his hair to his head, running forward over the dark blonde curve of his fringe.

_What the fuck?_

What the hell is he doing out here? These waters are hardly appropriate for swimming, not to mention how freezing the water must be and the boy is clearly naked.

Seungcheol inhales and holds it, tenses for...something. He shifts his foot and ends up standing on the trout—then slipping and landing on his ass.

The world's composed entirely of splashing water and pain for seconds that go on far too long. He's left blinking through the spray at the boy, one hand rubbing at his ass until the stabbing pain eases off.

The boy laughs, when it it’s not funny, at all, in the slightest.

Seungcheol frowns at him. He gets his feet under him and pulls himself up, hissing in irritation as he leans down to wring out the leg of his pants.

“Did you throw that fish at me?” Seungcheol asks after a beat of silence, pointing at the trout still flopping by his boot.

Instead of answering, the boy in the water gives him a slow, heated look, starting at the top of his head, wind disturbed hair, down the slope of his face like a caress, sliding past his chest and lingering on the contours of his hips before fixing his stare at his legs. Eventually, the boy tips his head curiously, then slips under the water.

“Hey!” Seungcheol shouts, outraged.

He’s about to move towards where the boy had appeared last—only to find him popping out of the sea to his right, hair flat against his skull, water running down his face and throat.

Seungcheol blinks in surprise. “How—how did you get over there so fast?”

The boy’s face is an expression of blankly confused innocence. He blinks water from his eyelashes, then smirks, like Seungcheol is the most amusing thing on earth.

His relaxed posture seems improbable in the ocean, his torso above water from his navel, and his arms mostly stationary. The water seems to be too dark to make out his legs, but he can’t be moving them too vigorously, or his torso would be bobbing. Seungcheol almost gets lost in the details of his lean chest, slim waist and stretch of milky skin over his collarbones, before the boy disappears under the water again.

“What—I order you to come back.” Seungcheol growls.

Another quiet splash, and the boy emerges again to his left—floating behind a large slab twenty feet away. He folds his arms on the edge of a rock and waits, all eyebrows and dubious amusement.

Seungcheol carefully hops from one rock to the next, making his way around the rock pool to were the boy’s head and waist are poking out.

The water surrounding the boy seems even darker than normal, and Seungcheol furrows his brow and looks down where the ripples lap against the boy’s skin. He squints into the water as the waning light glints off a pastel coloured stone the boy seems to be standing on.

No, not a stone.

He thinks for a moment the boy’s legs have been caught on something, a sheet perhaps. But as he moves closer, the boy dips and twists in the water, and where the youth’s groin should be there are only....scales.

Seungcheol jerks away, stumbling backwards and slipping off the rock. The water quickly soaks through his heavy clothes, the chill of it sinking into his skin and drenching him before he scrambles to his feet.

His breath comes hard in his throat as he looks at the creature before him; his vision swimming until he squeezes his eyes shut and wills them to focus.

His breathing turns into a shaky, horrible mess of rasps because that’s a—

Is that a….

That can’t be a….

No way that can be a….

Words well up in Seungcheol’s throat, jumbled and out-of-order, wanting to spill yet unable to. He gasps in wonder, unable to give voice to his revelation even as it looks upon him with its own two eyes.

Quickly, _fearfully_ , he glances around the beach, looking to see if anyone else is there to confirm such a finding. But it’s just him. Him and—this mermaid?

 _Merboy_ , actually.

He's carefully turning when he realises he's being watched. The creature has swum a little closer to his rock, watching him with bright eyes that have not once shifted their intense gaze.

“I can’t believe this.” Seungcheol admits quietly after a long and slightly disturbing moment of staring. His voice is only half there, a sort of quiet horror that's trying not to panic.

Merboy twists until he can brace himself against a rock, folds a hand round an edge and with graceful ease, hoists himself to sit on the edge. His new position reveals a long tail, the glossy shine of a million tiny scales and at the bottom a two-pronged fin flickering gently under the waterline.

Seungcheol’s eyes darts towards the tail before him. The unnatural shine of grey, green and blue as it twitches and shudders under the water. Seungcheol can't exactly process that at the minute. There are no words good enough for how he's feeling right now.

So he lets his gaze drift along the pastel lines of scales from the fin, over narrow hips and to Merboy’s face, taking in his features which are better revealed in all their finery now that he is sitting on display. When Seungcheol glances up, he notices the boy’s grey eyes darting across his face, quick and spontaneous, and it occurs to Seungcheol that the boy is scanning him in return.

He's making no effort at all to disguise the fact that the half of his body below the water line isn't human in the slightest.

Seungcheol supposes he doesn't think he needs to bother, since Seungcheol has already seen him in all his glory, already knows he's half fish.

Seungcheol takes an uncertain step forward and an extra breath. When Merboy doesn’t swim away, he sits down on a rock across from him and stares.

* * *

 

An hour later Seungcheol is still sitting there, staring—dumbfounded. Because his brain's still going round and round over the very obvious...thing, that's currently seated before him.

His brain still wants to reject the idea that someone can be half man and half fish.

He's not an idiot, he’s had a lengthy and expensive education and he knows better than most that it's plainly physically impossible, it's biologically impossible, it's probably anthropologically impossible.

But then—what _is_ this boy?

Court magicians, he has experience with. But that’s just elaborate hoaxes and everyone knows it. He’s read about witches and wizards in long forgotten tales. He's even read about incantations and spells used for power and healing once upon a time. He's gone through an entire day with such insanely bad luck he was sure somebody had cursed him. Unfortunately, that was just his luck.

But  _this_ , sudden new species is something which he has no frame of reference for.

That doesn't change the fact that there's a merman—or merboy currently seated on a rock, six feet from him, tail swaying and twisting in the water, sending currents slapping against the bottom of his boots.

“How can you be real?” He repeats for the hundredth time—more to himself than anything.

The merboy doesn’t say anything—or maybe he can’t. But the merperson equivalent of an eye roll appears to be a slow curl and uncurl of tail. This is the first time Seungcheol's gotten a good look at the gesture. It looks...mysteriously ruder when not performed underwater, more obvious, and he feels like he should be offended.

Another merperson would _probably_ be offended.

“You’re attitude needs improving.” He finds himself saying—which he realises isn't exactly helpful, or tactful. It is, however, true.

The merboy _actually_ rolls his eyes this time—which suggests he might understand Seungcheol. Seungcheol feels a warmth in his stomach; an eyeroll is good, that means the Merboy is truly involved in the conversation.

“Should you be here?” he asks, and regrets it immediately. It sounds like he  _wants_  Merboy to leave. “I mean—you’re just sitting there. _Letting_ me see you. Shouldn’t you be hiding from me or— _something_?”

In answer, Merboy sweeps his tail into the sea and then throws up water with the tip, splashing Seungcheol. It’s a playful gesture—Seungcheol guesses—but the brief movement sends a drift of more sea water and slime in his direction.

Like he wasn’t already covered in enough cold, salty water by now.

He ignores it, because he knows Merboy wants him to comment on it, and he's not going to give him the satisfaction.

“Thanks.” He says instead.

Merboy’s tail flicks sideways, Seungcheol thinks that's supposed to be mockery.

"How have you not ended up in anyone's net by now, seriously?" It's an honest question. Seungcheol doesn't see how any mythical creatures can be this reckless and not have ended up in some sort of menagerie, or worse, stuffed and on someone's wall by now. Which is an exceptionally horrifying thought.

“So—are we going to talk about this? The no legs thing?”

Merboy looks insulted, and that's a facial expression which seems to translate perfectly well. He makes a series of soft clicks and squeaks—annoyance, irritation, maybe making rude assumptions about Seungcheol’s parentage.

Seungcheol has no idea, since he doesn't speak whatever language travels underwater.

“Yeah—well, I just had your uncle—Mr Salmon—for dinner. He was delicious.” Seungcheol taunts.

Merboy narrows his eyes and makes a face.

It's not a happy face. It involves a lot of horrified lip curling and Merboy looks like he’s resisting the urge to send a tidal wave of water at him.

Seungcheol suspects he’s just hit below the belt there.

Below the belt? Below the waist? Below the scales?

Yeah—no—none of that makes sense now.  

Seungcheol scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Ah—I’m sorry. I’m just in a bad mood today. I shouldn’t have said that.” He says.

The scowl on Merboy’s face smooths out, and he dips his tail into the water to spray Seungcheol again lightly. So, yeah—that’s definitely playful.

“Seungcheol!” A voice calls out from the distance and Seungcheol gives himself whiplash as his attention snaps in the direction of the sound.

Suddenly he’s overwhelmed by an onslaught of emotions: fear that this creature will be seen, a protectiveness that clenches in his chest when he thinks of him being captured, a covetous desire to keep him safe and out of harms way.

“Oh—crap,” Seungcheol hisses, jumping to his feet and advancing on the creature. “Hide—hide.”

Merboy’s eyes widen—suddenly frightened by Seungcheol’s proximity. He makes some sort of brief, high-pitched noise that hurts Seungcheol's ears.

Seungcheol raises his hands in a placating manner, knowing the poor creature more than likely doesn’t understand _why_ he can’t be seen, but is reacting to Seungcheol’s urgency. Communicating with him must be like communicating with dogs and children then, not so much the words but the tone used.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Seungcheol says softly, edging closer and kneeling a foot away from where Merboy is perched. “I just need you to hide. Trust me—you don’t want to get caught.”

His softer tone seems to please Merboy, who looks more relaxed by the second, allowing Seungcheol to reach out to him.

He gingerly presses against the creature’s hips where the scales begin to scatter and regress into the smooth, milky skin.

Merboy slips off the rock easily into the water until he’s waist deep, clinging to the rock with his fingertips. He doesn’t seem to be getting the message that he needs to get the fuck out of here, he just floats and curls his tail, blinking up at Seungcheol through the late sun.

Seungcheol sighs in annoyance, “Listen—whatever your name is—you need-“

“My name is Jihoon.” Merboy says quietly.

“Alright—Jihoon—you need to—” Seungcheol’s brain briefly comes to a bewildered stop. He eyeballs the creature. “Fuck! You can _talk_?”

“ _Obviously_.” Jihoon says testily.

“But—I—how—I,” Seungcheol stammers, but pauses when Jihoon dips, wetting his hair as he slips under the surface. He comes back up not a second later newly soaked, glistening and beautiful, and with cheeks fat with water, which he promptly empties with great force and alarming accuracy in Seungcheol’s face.

“Son of a--” Seungcheol growls, turning his head to shield his face.

The next thing he knows, Jihoon is reaching a hand out and touching his chest, a slide of hand over the silk of his shirt, warmth instantly seeping all the way through. A wet palm slides against the back of his neck, closely followed by the brush and twist of soft fingertips and knuckles on his skin. Delicate and tickling, before they shift away, leaving just cool air.

“What are you-“ Before Seungcheol can finish, Jihoon is grabbing the medallion around his neck and tugging it loose.

“Bye,” Jihoon giggles. Disappearing once again into the water, looking so infuriatingly amused.

It occurs to Seungcheol that he's probably the first member of royalty to see a merperson, speak to one _and_ have his medallion stolen by one too. Though he's not exactly in a position to have a parade for his own uniqueness.

Impossible things aren't usually allowed to steal your stuff. No matter how pretty they are. It's unfair.

“Seungcheol!?” Jisoo calls out, making expansive, long-suffering, noises behind him as he struggles to traverse the sandy terrain.

Seungcheol doesn’t address him, too busy trying to catch the shimmer of scales in the water as Jihoon floats away. He wants— _needs_ to just see him again—to convince himself it was real. But Jihoon is already gone, swimming away between the waves in a way Seungcheol envies in that moment.

“Seungcheol?” Jisoo’s voice is low and curious. “What’s the matter your highness? Why are you all wet?”

Seungcheol rights himself, dusting down his knees uselessly. “I uhh—slipped and fell.” He says, through an expression which is clearly bewildered.

“And what were you looking for at the waters edge? Did you lose something?” Jisoo asks, looking across to where Seungcheol had been kneeling moments before.

Even though there's no way Jisoo intends the question as an accusation—no chance he saw Seungcheol conversing with anyone—the question lands like sleet along Seungcheol's skin. He has to remind himself that it's a reasonable query.

“Nothing—uhh—something stole my medallion.”

Jisoo arches a brow. “Something?”

Seungcheol’s not entirely sure what to say to that. “Uhm—I think it was a seagull.”

“A _seagull_ stole your medallion?” Jisoo repeats, making no attempt to mask the dryness in his voice.

Seungcheol nods slowly, looking back over the water. “Yeah. A rude, ethereal— _beautiful_ seagull.”

Jisoo eyes him like he might have some sort of, as far undiscovered, head injury. “Well—no matter. It’s not like you don’t have hundreds of medallions to replace it. Let’s get you back to the palace—it’s getting late.”

Seungcheol fidgets at the shore for a moment longer, then turns and follows Jisoo back to the palace, a slow, but not dejected walk.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he will return.


	2. This wild boy from the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another meeting.

Jihoon’s not supposed to be here, this close to the shore, but it's a safe place to play precisely because the other sea creatures find it so dangerous.

There are plenty of safe waters he can frolic in, but sometimes Jihoon just wants to feel the sun on his skin, and other times he likes to perch on the rocks and watch the birds circle the sky overhead. They never come anywhere near him or answer any of his questions, but he doesn’t think it’s personal.

Life in the reef is boring for a young merboy, save for the occasional shipwreck he finds that offer glimpses of life beyond the surface and _the land dwellers._ And Jihoon gets tired of the caves, where it’s dreary and dark and where every little movement outside the cave, especially at night, frightens him. 

Jihoon never knew his mother, which is perhaps why he did not learn to avoid humans as most young merfolk did. Rather, he developed an insatiable curiosity about them, splashing just below the surface of boats and hiding in shallow coral reefs, just watching the land dweller's strange hunting habits and awkward swimming strokes.

Still, he's not _stupid._

Merfolk aren’t naturally social creatures and being a fan of his own continued state of health, Jihoon swears to keep of wide berth despite the intrigue he feels.

He _knows_ better than to get close enough to let himself be seen by anyone. That is—until the day he spots _him_.

Fishermen are no strangers to Jihoon; large, loud, occasionally drunk and usually heavily bearded. This man however, doesn’t look like a fisherman, doesn’t look like he’s ever set foot on a fishing boat in his life.

Before Jihoon realizes it, curiosity gets the better of him and he's swimming closer, demonstrating that risky behaviour his father warned would eventually led to his undoing.

His curiosity is momentarily, just momentarily disrupted by the sight in front of him. Because he’s scared but he’s not  _blind_ , and the man in question is, as it turns out, irritatingly attractive. He’s tall, broad, with ridiculously doe eyes, a strong jaw and obscenely full lips and Jihoon’s face heats with the unexpected direction of his own thoughts.

He watches the man as the distance between them closes, some unnamed impulse sparking in his veins. It’s not fear, exactly, but it’s not a peaceful feeling by any means.

The man is sitting there all alone, staring out into the sea like it’s personally insulted him.

Jihoon has a lot of understanding for the little frustrations that accompany one's existence, but there’s a tension in this man’s jaw that sharpens the youthfulness of his face, a moroseness more common to weathered men twice his age.

He’s clearly troubled about something, but before Jihoon can guess what’s going through his mind, the man blinks and just sort of…pulls all that intensity back inside himself. He straightens his spine, runs a hand through his hair, squares up his shoulders and stands.

When the man turns to leave—Jihoon does the _unthinkable_.

It’s probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done.

* * *

Jihoon swims to the edge of the reef, clutching his newly acquired trinket protectively against his chest.

He’s never acquired a trinket this magnificent before, and he’s so overjoyed he’s tempted to show it off to his friends.

His good mood sours the closer he swims to home, and realisation dawns on him. He’s sure he's done something incredibly foolish.

It was easy to poach the trinket; the glint of gold so tempting, he couldn’t resist reaching out and taking it.

But now, he has no proof that the human won't go back to shore and gather a mob to hunt him down. Especially after he threw that trout at him—which was admittedly hilarious at the time.

But, what if....

Jihoon sighs, irritable.

Instead of swimming home, he circles the edge of his territory, like he usually does when something bothers him.

He's lived in this section of sea for nearly five months; a little bored, _certainly,_ but completely undisturbed. He doesn't want to go through the hassle of finding another territory. He's familiar with the depths of the reef now, knows the best place to catch fish, the best place to hide from sharks, the best shipwrecks to explore.

The more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets. He doesn't want to alert his father to his stupidity because he knows he’ll make them move again, simply because Jihoon was foolish enough to trust a land-dweller.

And it _was_ foolish. _Right?_

But this one had been so unlike the others. He had a kind voice and an honest face, and even when Jihoon had been paralyzed with fear for a split second, the human had made no attempt to attack him. He’d even alerted Jihoon to the arrival of another human, urged him to leave gently. He almost seemed horrified by the idea of anyone capturing or hurting him.

His confusion is infuriating; and leaves Jihoon with no option but to wait it out and see whether the humans come for him. 

“And where have you been?” A voice calls out as Jihoon circles a rock.

Jihoon freezes, every muscle in his body tensing, he has to force himself to relax before he turns around.

Jeonghan is swimming towards him with his hands on his hips and an expression of both relief and mortification on his face.

Jihoon’s tail flickers anxiously, and he remembers to quickly hide the trinket behind his back as Jeonghan floats towards him.

“Answer me Jihoon!”

“Playing.” Jihoon says quickly.

Perhaps a little _too_ quickly.

He doesn't know what shows on his face, but it makes Jeonghan raise an eyebrow.

Jihoon can tell the older merman is frustrated; the restless twitching of his fin and unkempt hair curling wildly around his face says he’s probably been frantically searching for Jihoon all day.

“Where exactly?” Jeonghan asks, his voice some confusing mixture of imperious and uncertain that Jihoon’s used to hearing by now.

Jihoon carefully blinks at him. “In the ocean.”

Jeonghan scowls back.

“Stop playing dumb Jihoon. You know damn well what I mean. You weren’t in your cave, you weren’t out swimming with the others. Your father has asked me your whereabouts at least five times today and I’ve been lying for you, so—please—don’t _lie_ to me.”

Jihoon’s stomach does an uneasy flip. He doesn’t think it best to tell Jeonghan of his encounter with the land dweller, he feels it will only serve to worry him. “Just on the outskirts of the reef. I was trying to catch trout.”

Jeonghan doesn't look happy about the that in the slightest.

“I hope that’s all you were doing Jihoon. You know what will happen if a land dweller sees you.” Jeonghan warns, visibly gritting his teeth. It’s the same expression he always wears when humans are involved, like he’s always a breath away from screaming.

“If you’re going to tell me another horror story, save it.” Jihoon says, feeling stubborn enough to forget about his nerves.

Jeonghan levels a hard, serious look in Jihoon’s direction. “They’re dangerous Jihoon.”

Jihoon manages, barely, to keep from rolling his eyes.  “How would you know? Have you ever met one? How can you be sure they’re as bad as everyone says they are if you’ve never actually met one?”

Jeonghan doesn't mock him aloud. He simply cocks his head to one side, holding Jihoon in a considering gaze. Even so, Jihoon doesn't have to be telepathic to tell him he has been judged foolish and naive.

“I may never have met one _personally_ , but I’ve heard enough to make me wary of them. We’re not told to avoid them for no reason Jihoon. Didn’t you father tell you the story of-”

“They’re just cautionary tales.” Jihoon interrupts. “Fables and myths to scare us into never leaving the reef. The land dwellers don’t even think we exist Hannie and besides, it’s not like I’m going to swim up to one and—introduce myself!” He adds, realising belatedly—that’s _exactly_ what he did.

Jeonghan hums quietly with a fair amount of scepticism. “Perhaps, but I still—wait,” He tips his head to the side, finally registering that Jihoon is holding something behind his back. “What’s that you have behind your back?”

Jihoon gives him what he thinks is a convincingly innocent expression. “Nothing.”

For a second, he thinks Jeonghan might even buy it.

“Fine. Don’t tell me.” Jeonghan says, clucking his tongue despairingly, “When your father asks where you’ve been all day—I’ll tell him you left the reef to play near the shore and when you came back—you were behaving _suspiciously_.”

Jihoon sighs and produces the medallion from behind his back. “It’s just a trinket.” He murmurs, cradling the trinket delicately, though it isn’t.

The trinket is much heavier than any Jihoon’s had before, all glittering gems and links of gold. It seems a wonder that any owner of such an ornament would be able to hold up his head while wearing it.

Jeonghan’s eyes widen in surprised delight. “Wow. It’s very nice. Very _shiny_.” He grins, prodding at it with a finger

“Yes. It’s the nicest one I’ve ever seen.” Jihoon answers brightly. But his voice softens then, serious. “The owner must be sad to have—uhm— _lost_ it.”

“Where did you find it?” Jeonghan asks curiously.

Jihoon clears his throat a little. “Just an old shipwreck I was exploring.”

“Okay. Be sure to hide it—you don’t want the others stealing it off you again.” Jeonghan tells him, favouring him with a pitying smile.

Jihoon returns to his tiny cave, burying his trinket carefully under a few shells so he can fawn over it later. He used to proudly display all his trinkets on the walls of the cave, that is until the others ransacked his home and stole them all. Now he has to start his collection from scratch.

When Jihoon curls up in his bed that night, he tries not to think of the human with varying degrees of success.

It’s difficult when he recalls his smile every time he shuts his eyes, and when his hip still feels warm from where the man touched him. As hard as he tries to shake it, he still feels the phantom sensation of a calloused thumb rubbing across his scales.

It was nice being touched so gently.

Maybe he…

NO.

Jihoon closes off the direction of his thoughts with vicious determination, swallows down the confused warmth in his chest. He will not allow the land dweller to confuse him. He will not let himself be distracted. He can't afford to forget the simple reality of who and what a human is.

He promises himself, the next time their paths cross he’ll be more assertive, less fearful.

That’s _if_ he ever meets him again.

There's some dark little thrill inside him that hopes he does.

* * *

Seungcheol paces the grounds leading down to the beach, blazing like a lighthouse signal, his hands curled into fists.

“The tide hasn’t pulled out yet. Why has the tide not pulled out yet Jisoo? It wasn’t this high this time yesterday? What gives?”

Jisoo surveys him with a critical eye. “Because it’s the will of mother nature? Because you’re not prince of the ocean and can’t command the ocean to obey your whims?”

“I _should_ be prince of the ocean.” Seungcheol grumbles.

Jisoo makes a face of extreme constipation, which Seungcheol takes to mean that he very nearly said something that Seungcheol might consider executing him for.

This is completely unfair.

He’s waited all day for this moment. Patiently followed through with all his princely duties and attended all his boring lessons, biding his time until he could come down to the beach and find his merboy again.

Now the spot he’d sat in yesterday was a good six feet under water, with no sign of that changing anytime soon.

“Why exactly is high tide a problem today?” Jisoo asks, taking Seungcheol a bit off-guard as he knocks him back out of his somewhat petulant, pensive annoyance.

“Because, I want to walk along the beach.” Seungcheol says slowly, like that isn’t blatantly obvious.

Jisoo gives him the concerned squinty-look, “Your highness—you have an expansive garden to walk through, and land beyond that—and a forest beyond that.”

“I prefer the beach. I need to walk along the beach.” Seungcheol demands, eyes darting along the coast.

He spots a small fishing boat harboured on the sand, a fisherman nearby emptying his crate. An idea occurs to him. “I’ll take a boat out.”

Jisoo’s head whips around so fast Seungcheol thinks it a bit of a wonder that it doesn’t simply fall off. “What?”

“Boat.” Seungcheol reiterates, starting to walk down the steps leading to the beach. “I’ll just row a boat out instead—since the tide doesn’t want to fuck off anytime soon.”

Jisoo is persistent, and worse, he's perceptive. “Why are you so keen to be out in the sea all of a sudden?” He asks, scrambling to follow Seungcheol as he starts down the rough path.

Seungcheol sighs. “It’s soothing. I like the waves and fresh sea air. Maybe I’ll go fishing. Does it matter? Why do I have to justify everything I do Jisoo?”

The raised eyebrow doesn't help Seungcheol's mood at all. He can feel the muscles in his jaw clenching, and he's pretty sure Jisoo can see it too. He forces himself to take a breath and calm down. Getting angry or acting like he's got something to hide is only going to set Jisoo's alarm bells off faster than is healthy.

“I just want some time alone away from everything. Is that too much to ask for?”

Jisoo looks at him for a minute without saying anything, assessing. Then he sighs. “I’ll can have a sail boat arranged.” He allows, probably because he knows it’ll be fruitless to argue.

Seungcheol shakes his head and gestures to the small vessel. “No need, I’ll just take this one. I want something small.”

“But, your highness—” Jisoo stutters. It isn't a typical request, certainly not one Jisoo has ever heard from him before. “That boat doesn’t belong to the royal family.” He says it with a note of polite disapproval, which just irritates Seungcheol even further, because he’s the fucking prince.

Anything he wants is his. This boat is his. This beach is his. This grizzly looking fisherman gutting fish with a hook is his!

“I’m sure you’ll pay the owner handsomely for allowing me to borrow it.” Seungcheol says.

Over Jisoo's strident objections, he wastes no time in pushing the boat back into the sea and climbing in.

“Please, endeavour to stay out of trouble,” Jisoo says, pulling out a bag of gold coins to pay the bemused fisherman.

“You know me, Jisoo,” Seungcheol replies with a quick quirk of his brows, before he takes hold of the oars and begins paddling with vigour.

“Yeah, that’s the trouble,” Jisoo mutters, but Seungcheol doesn’t bother to turn back. He knows the look of concern well enough by now, and he knows that Jisoo has no cause to worry.

He’s the Crown Prince, safe in his own lands. There is nothing he can foresee that will compromise his safety in so short a time.

* * *

Seungcheol rows the boat out to roughly the same spot he’d seen Jihoon swimming yesterday, careful to navigate around the jagged rocks poking out from the sea bed.

Boats tend to drift rather more erratically than he'd first expected, and he needs to drop the anchor a good distance from the cliffside to avoid smashing the boat against the rocks.

There is a long stretch where the only sound is the waves crashing on the shore, and he has no choice but to sit and wait, a keen gaze on the surface of the water watching for the Merboy.

And for an even _longer_ stretch, there is no activity.

Jihoon hasn’t returned from what he can see. Of course, that doesn't conclusively mean he’s not here—swimming out of sight.

The boat might have scared Jihoon off.

Or maybe he’s searching for a decently sized trout to throw at Seungcheol.

That’s probably how Merfolk greet each other or something. Lobbing fish about.

It’s _possible_.

On the other hand—this is _insane_.

He’s the Crown Prince. He's got a hundred and one duties and obligation more pressing than this and he’s just rowed a boat out to wait for a mythical creature to emerge and throw fish at him.

Clearly he was seeing things yesterday. He needs his sight tested because there is no such thing as mermaids—or merman—or even beautiful merboys. He can’t believe he’s…

“Hi.”

Seungcheol jumps— _a mile._

So startled by the warm breath ghosting over his ear, he tips forward, almost capsizing the boat.

He snaps his head to the side to find Jihoon, watching him. The Merboy makes no move to greet him, apparently content to wait out Seungcheol’s startled pause. A smug expression glints like amusement in his eyes, and his tail swishes idly back and forth. He floats exactly where he materialized, beside the boat his hands clasped behind his back, his entire posture casual.

Seungcheol drinks in the sight of him.

He’s exactly how Seungcheol’s brain remembers: grey eyes, thoughtlessly tossed hair, a body both slight and nicely muscled at the same time. A hint of quiet humour in the quirk of his lips, the sparkle of curiosity in those bright eyes that Seungcheol can barely tear his own gaze from.

Seungcheol takes a minute to calm his beating heart. He’s experiencing the familiar tingle of newness, that tightness in his chest that holds him captive, made warmer by the sheer  _beauty_  of Jihoon.

In a nervous habit, Seungcheol licks his lips. “Hello again.” He says, berating himself for the delay. 

It's really not fair how hysterical his voice sounds, but he’s talking to a goddamn  _merboy_ , and Seungcheol doesn't think he's ever going to wrap his head around the fact that mermaids are real.

A moment later, he adds “Jihoon-isn’t it? Am—am I pronouncing that right?”

Jihoon makes a short humming sound in the back of his throat—perhaps the Merman equivalent of a nod.

He twists his tail down to arch his body forward, fingers curling over the lip of the boat as he levers himself up to peek inside. There’s not much to look at, but Jihoon’s face is sweet with wonder and he makes quiet inquisitive sounds as he inspects the contents of the raft, tilting his head curiously as if discovering strange new things.

A frown shows up slowly on Jihoon’s face. Then suddenly, he’s letting go of the boat, pushing himself back in a sweeping motion with a squeaky yelp. 

“What?” Seungcheol asks in confusion.

Jihoon disappears into the water, and remains gone for long enough that Seungcheol thinks he's not coming back.

A few minutes later, there’s a quiet splash and he reappears a few meters away, bobbing behind a rock. He’s got a scowl on his face, a scowl directed at _Seungcheol_.

Seungcheol scratches the back of his head in confusion, not quite sure what he’s done wrong. His eyes wander over to the top of the boat to where an array of fishing equipment is stored. It’s then he _finally_ registers the large fishing spear poking out from under a tarp.

“Oh—oh no!” Seungcheol says with a rush of realization. “That’s not mine.”

Jihoon’s narrows his eyes at him with an air of suspicion and hostility, then looks away again pointedly. He appears to be pouting at him.

“I give you my word it’s not mine. It belongs to the fisherman I commandeered the boat off. I’m not a fisherman. I promise you.”

Jihoon makes an unconvinced clicking sound, still pouting unhappily.

Seungcheol considers him for a moment, then settles on the only choice available to him. He straightens himself up and makes his way to the other end of the boat carefully. Dragging the spear out from under the tarp, he hefts it over the side and watches it sink deep into the water.

“There—see, you happy now?” He says.

Jihoon is startled enough to meet his gaze, like Seungcheol has done something he's not supposed to. Done something Jihoon didn't expect. The hard edges in his expression are gone, as quickly as they appeared. There's a curious contemplation instead, eyes liquid and strange, but still unmistakably fearful.

Jihoon emerges from behind the rock, floating uncertainly towards the boat, eyes fixed on Seungcheol.

Seungcheol isn't sure what he sees there. He should ask Jihoon what a human looks like to a merperson, but he's half afraid of the answer. Obviously, the creature can tell he’s different by virtue of his legs, but Seungcheol has no idea why he’s so afraid. Maybe he's got “HUNGRY” written in bloody letters across his forehead. Maybe it's something worse than that. He's not sure he really wants to know.

Jihoon grips the edge of the boat again and levers himself up, the ends of his tail peeking out of the water just behind him. He seems to be examining the inside of the boat for more evidence of fishing paraphernalia.

There’s a small fishing net trapped under Seungcheol’s boot, and Jihoon eyeballs it distrustfully.

Before Seungcheol can deny his ownership, Jihoon has swam behind the rock again and started yelping.

“Seriously? The fishing net?” Seungcheol groans incredulously. “But’s it’s so small! If I had any intent of capturing you I would need a much larger fishing net.”

Jihoon’s yelping more sorrowfully now—like a trapped baby seal.

Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose. “I suppose you’ll only come closer once I’ve thrown all this poor man’s fishing equipment over board.”

Jihoon’s yelping grows in volume, tail thrashing about in the water. Seungcheol’s half worried he’s calling for his mer-friends to come kick the crap out of him. Or—slap the crap out of him with their _tails._  There's probably not enough trout in the sea to punish him for the error of his fishing ways.

He sighs heavily, resigning himself to the inevitable if he wants his new friend to come closer.

“I hope you appreciate this gesture, since I’m robbing some man oh his livelihood.” He mutters angrily, tossing out every suspicious piece of equipment overboard.

When he’s finished, he dusts off his hands and looks up to find Jihoon has vanished.

“Jihoon?” He calls out, and is greeted with silence. Except for the sound of the water lapping gently at the boat, there is little to be heard.

Seungcheol sags into his seat, “Aw damn.” He groans.

 _That_ was all for nothing.

He waits for a few minutes, staring longingly at the water, but it seems Jihoon has gone for good. Resigned, Seungcheol takes hold of the rope stringing the anchor, preparing to lift it when Jihoon pops out near the side of the boat.

Seungcheol jerks back in surprise. “I...I thought you’d left.”

Jihoon shakes his head, then lifts his hand out of the water to reveal a large trout, struggling in his grip.

Instead of _throwing_ it at Seungcheol, he swims closer and hesitantly deposits the fish over the lip of the boat. He looks pleased with himself, and the slightest bit tentative, anticipating Seungcheol’s reaction.

“For me?” Seungcheol asks, oddly touched by the gesture. He realises it must be Jihoon’s way of compensating for the loss of fishing equipment.

Jihoon nods silently.

Seungcheol beams, “Thanks. I mean—you didn’t _have_ to, but thanks. I—uhm—love trout.” He offers.

Jihoon smiles, suddenly radiantly happy.

In a flash, he propels himself out of the water, gracefully arching over the boat. His silvery scales glint in the sunlight as he passes over Seungcheol’s head, the bottom fin of his tail fanning delicately out like butterfly wings.

Diving smoothly back into the water, he loops under the boat before gliding back to his original position. Seungcheol gapes at him, amazed by the fluid movements and sleek, shiny tail.

“Fuck, you’re—” _Beautiful_ , he finishes the thought in his head.

Seungcheol knows he’s staring at Jihoon with what must be an unhealthy degree of interest. Before he’s is conscious of it, he’s raising a hand out to touch Jihoon.

Jihoon goes very still, in a way that feels surprised. He’s not moving away but there's something there, something  _vulnerable_. He’s practically shrinking in fear and it makes Seungcheol hesitate. He ends up sitting there with his hand held out vaguely in front of him, wearing what has to be a disappointed expression.

“I meant what I said yesterday. I’m not going to hurt you.” He murmurs, trying to ease some of that astonished vulnerability off Jihoon's face.

Jihoon’s eyebrows knit together. “You have legs.” He says, like that explains why Seungcheol can’t be trusted.

Seungcheol retracts his hand slowly. “So?”

“Legs are unwise.” Jihoon says. Which seems to croak out of him as some sort of prophetic announcement.

Seungcheol scoffs. He’s not entirely sure how he's supposed to feel about that.

“I _see_.” Seungcheol drawls, half dryly and half amused. He’s been judged by some fairly strange ideas before, but this is a new one.

In a way, he gets it.

Jihoon’s physical features set him apart from humanity in a way Seungcheol has never had to cope with, even indirectly. Jihoon’s entire existence is constructed around the basic, clear-cut premise that humans are different. And not just different, but dangerous and cruel. A race with whom he and his kind share no common ground.

It’s understandable why he would shy away.

Seungcheol tries a different tactic. “Then why show yourself at all? You could have easily remained hidden yesterday—yet you appeared before me.”

Something on Jihoon’s face changes; his cheeks darken with a blush. Seungcheol can hear the click in Jihoon’s throat as he swallows. “I don’t know...but, you seemed different from the others.” He meets Seungcheol’s eyes for a moment, and then quickly drops his gaze. He shrugs, a surprisingly graceless jerk of his shoulders. Though Seungcheol has no way of knowing, he’s sure this ‘difference’ is a good thing.

Seungcheol doesn’t ask. It seems more personal than this tentative conversation is. Instead, he searches his brain for something else to say.

There's a part of him that can't quite believe Jihoon’s here. Mostly he's excited about it, but there's a tiny corner of his mind reserved for outright terror.

What if they don't actually connect as well as he hopes?

What if they have nothing to talk about, although Seungcheol's fairly certain that won't be a problem given the endless questions he thought of since their last encounter. Seungcheol has a hundred things he wants to know about Jihoon, but every time he opens his mouth to voice them he hesitates.  

It’s _ridiculous_.

He’s been waiting all day for this opportunity and now that he has it, all he can do is stare, transfixed as the Merboy swims lazy circles around his boat.

His brain may have turned to mush at the sight of Jihoon, but watching him duck through the water in lazy rolling swoops is a good chance to see the creature from every angle.

And– _fuck_. Jihoon is _stunning_ , deceptive, sleek, and beautiful. Seungcheol _.....wants_ him.

He cannot help but feel wrong for thinking it, but it's true.

Jihoon shouldn't exist. He  _can't_  exist. Seungcheol keeps repeating it in his head. And yet, Jihoon is still ducking in and out of the waves gracefully, looking like he owns the whole ocean. Come to think of it, maybe he does.

Maybe’s he’s prince of the ocean—or perhaps even king?

Seungcheol shakes the fanciful through from his head. He doesn’t expect merpeople to have the same advanced social structures they have on land.

Jihoon comes to a rest near the top of the boat, less than half a meter from Seungcheol. He wades a few tantalizing centimetres closer, cocks his head, looking at the Seungcheol curiously.

He breaks their mutually explorative silence to say, “You haven’t told me your name yet.”

Seungcheol blinks. “Oh—uh—Seungcheol.”

“Oh-uh-Seungcheol?” Jihoon repeats soft and silky, throwing Seungcheol a coy look from beneath his lashes.

Seungcheol grins. “ _Just_ Seungcheol.”

“Just Seungcheol?” Jihoon parrots, trying to look serious, but failing miserably. The sparkle in his eyes is a dead give-away, and Seungcheol has to work to keep his face sober.

“Seungcheol. My name is Seungcheol.” He says dryly.

Jihoon grins, tail flicking in the water hard enough to create a small wave around him. “Where are you from?”

The smart answer would be from the village. But the Merboy must know it to be a lie; judging from Seungcheol’s clothing and general appearance—he hardly resembles a fisherman. And for some strange, inexplicable reason, Seungcheol doesn’t want to lie to Jihoon. It just doesn’t seem like a good way to start... whatever they’re starting.

So he says vaguely, “My home is just over that cliff.”

Lifting one eyebrow, Jihoon rephrases for him, “The Palace then.”

Seungcheol’s own eyebrows lift. That... wasn’t an answer he was expecting. “Uh—yeah. I didn’t realise it was visible from down here.”

Jihoon shakes hi head. “It’s not. But I can see the spires from the distance, and I’ve seen those flags on ships that sail past here. They all have that creature on them, the one with..” he trails off, trying to grasp the right word but it clearly alludes him. Instead, he bares his sharp little teeth and makes a face to resemble the lion printed on the royal flag.

Seungcheol laughs. “It’s a lion.” He explains. “It’s the crest of the Royal Family.”

“A... L-I-O-N.” Jihoon repeats slowly, measuring the words and attaching new meaning. His tail whips through the water excitedly. "I’ve never seen one before. But they look ferocious.”

A smile automatically tugs on Seungcheol’s lips. “They are. But they’re considered majestic, like kings of the animal world.”

Jihoon inclines his head, acknowledging the point. “So—are you the King?”

Seungcheol chuckles and shakes his head. Perhaps they  _are_  an intelligent race after all, with their own social structures, watery impediments or no. Or at least, they’re not new to the concept of monarchy. He mentally scolds himself for being so quick to judge.

“No, I’m not.” He says. And it’s not a lie— _technically_. He’s not king— _yet_.

* * *

 

The sun is low in the sky the next time Seungcheol looks out over the horizon, and he knows it’s time to leave before Jisoo sends out a whole fucking royal armada to find him.

“It’s getting late,” Seungcheol says, which seems both the best thing to say and the most horribly insufficient thing he could possibly say in this situation.

He's doesn’t know the appropriate words for saying goodbye to a merperson without accidentally promising them your firstborn, or agreeing to marry them, or giving terrible offense that will mean his family will suffer for twenty generations. "It was nice seeing you again, but I need to head back to land." he adds, some combination of politeness and caution trying to salvage the situation.

 Jihoon’s face falls, ever so imperceptibly. “Oh. Okay then. Goodbye.” He says, swimming out of Seungcheol's reach. Though he doesn't go far, as if he's compelled to stay, for reasons of his own. The tension in his shoulders tells Seungcheol his companion has more to say, but obvious reluctance holds him back. 

“I plan on returning tomorrow. Will—will you be here tomorrow?” Seungcheol calls out.  

Jihoon floats back and forth quietly for a moment, watching him with a sort of guarded, passive scrutiny. He frowns, as if unsure if Seungcheol's serious. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because—I want—need—to see you again.” Seungcheol says, and barely recognizes the desperate tone of his own voice.

Jihoon’s eyebrows are high, his tail restless in the water. “Why?” There's a frustration in the way Jihoon says it, as if some human things are still nebulous and uncertain to him.

“Because—I was hoping to talk to you. I—I’m still not sure you’re real.”

“Not this again.” Jihoon sighs, splashing water in his general direction, impatiently and possibly not deliberately. “I'm real, okay! Didn't you spend the majority of our first acquaintance insisting that I wasn't real, and claiming that you had, in fact, had some sort of mental lapse."

Seungcheol chuckles sheepishly. “Uhh, yeah. I guess.”

He will admit, that's a fair description of how their first meeting went. But that was their very first meeting, before anyone had braced Seungcheol for  _merboys,_  before he'd even had any idea that he'd need to be braced for merboys. He thinks he can be forgiven for taking a moment to try and make 'merboys are real and I want one,' fit with the rest of his, up to now, completely sensible and normal and ordinary ideas about the world.

“Besides, if I was imaginary, could I do this?” Jihoon says, reaching out slowly—then flicking Seungcheol on the forehead.  

Seungcheol is not accustomed to being flicked. Anywhere. By _anyone_.

He thinks he can make an exception this time.

“Be annoying and rude? No, I suppose not. But your type are not exactly common knowledge. Most people don’t think you exist. And those who do are considered raving lunatics and nobody takes them seriously.” Seungcheol points out.

Jihoon rolls his eyes so hard his whole head moves with them. “That’s because land dwellers are non-sensical. I expect it’s because of your legs.” He says offhandedly.

Seungcheol grins despite the jibe (possibly because of it), “Excuse me?”

Jihoon flicks his tail a little in a pointlessly vague sort of way, “I’m just saying—legs clearly make you stupid.”

Seungcheol gets the impression it's not the first time Jihoon’s voiced his dislike of _legs_ , but it's the first time he's heard it. Being the only member of a leg-having species in the vicinity, Seungcheol feels like he should be duelling at dawn for them.

"Legs do not make you stupid." he grunts out.

Jihoon's untranslatable, clicking response to that is clearly calling him a _liar._

"The logic you use to draw conclusions honestly confuses me," Seungcheol admits with a huff. He does not care that Jihoon is teasing, nor does he appreciate being insulted for having legs. He rolls his shoulders and glares dourly, but the expression—among the most intimidating in Seungcheol’s sizable arsenal—has no apparent effect.

Jihoon seems to actually _approve_ of it if anything, god knows why.

“If legs are responsible for stupidity, by your logic having a tail must be responsible for rudeness. And _thievery_.” Seungcheol snipes.

Jihoon looks up, face twisted up in amusement. “Better than being stupid.” He retorts dryly.

Seungcheol finds himself heading quickly into a much less accommodating mood. As a prince, he’s not used to being mocked.

“Are you asking me to come in there and teach you a lesson?” Seungcheol threatens.

Jihoon’s expression seems to be saying _'I'm going to indulge you, because of your legs.'_

“Oh? And what lesson would that be? How to drown?” Jihoon says seriously, and Seungcheol honestly can't tell if he's making a joke, being suggestive, or subtly threatening him. For all Seungcheol knows it could be all three.

Seungcheol narrows his eyes, refusing to be offended. “I can swim. I’m a great swimmer in fact.”

“Oh really!” Jihoon laughs. “Show me then. I do like watching humans try—and you do try so very hard.” He says, with a smile that's truly devious.

Seungcheol hopes he is wearing a good incredulous expression. “And I suppose you're just a model of grace trying to walk on land? Flopping around like a seal!"

Jihoon huffs like he thinks he should be insulted by that. He looks for a moment as if he might stick his tongue out, but apparently thinks better of it. “I have no need to venture on land, I have everything I need here in the ocean. You land dwellers however, seem awfully fond of navigating the sea even if you’re terrible at it. The number of shipwreck I come across are truly outstanding—one would think you were crashing them deliberately.”

Seungcheol's clenches his jaw in irritation. “I have half a mind to haul you on this boat and spank some manners into you. And the other half agrees.”

Jihoon inhales sharply, and lets out a rolling rumble that sounds like some sort of bizarre purr. He lifts a pale hand, and gestures elegantly towards the water. "Then, by all means _Seungcheol,_ come in and teach me a lesson. If you think you can catch me.”

The silence between them is a palpable thing as Seungcheol stares. He watches Jihoon’s face, the way he runs his tongue over his lower lip, baiting the trap with far more than words.

Though tempting, Seungcheol knows that that will not end well. He has the uncanny feeling that if he were to follow Jihoon into the water, he would never be able to leave again.

He’s recalls stories and ancient legends about enchanting beings of striking beauty, pulling unfortunate men below the waves to drown.

Is that what Jihoon’s doing now?

Is he using some kind of siren charm to enchant him into swimming? Or perhaps some kind of siren—reverse psychology?

Seungcheol lets his scowl speak for itself.

"I thought not," Jihoon says flatly.

Furious, Seungcheol doesn’t say another word, he just settles himself on the wooden bench in the centre of the boat, grasps the oars and starts rowing home.

Jihoon follows, drifting at the end of the boat with a frown on his face that looks very human.

“So—when will you return tomorrow?” Jihoon calls out. A catch in his voice, an unmistakable hesitation.

Seungcheol snorts a little, “I _won’t_ be returning.”

Jihoon emits a quiet squeaking that sounds like disappointment. He swims alongside the boat for a few strokes before gripping the edge again.

“Why?” he finally asks.

Seungcheol stops rowing to look at him. “I have better things to do then sit around and be insulted.” He replies, keeping his voice deliberately flat.

Jihoon wrinkles his nose in confusion, eyebrows arching high, grey eyes wide with the obvious effort of deciphering Seungcheol’s anger. He blinks, the first hint of comprehension surfacing. “Is it because I called your legs stupid?”

“Yes.” Seungcheol replies with a snap.

Jihoon purses his lips. There's the quivering edge of pleading in his words when he says, “If I catch you another fish, will you come back?”

Seungcheol closes his eyes briefly, “No.” He answers, even though he feels his resolve crumbling.  

Jihoon sighs heavily, shoulders slumping in defeat, delicate face twisted in a mess of disappointment. “But I don’t have anything else to give you. I only have fish.” His voice is small, soft, bordering on downhearted.

“You could just—I dunno—try apologising.” Seungcheol says, sounding thoroughly exasperated.

He thinks Jihoon will not respond to that at all. That he will remain stubborn and silent, for as long as it takes for Seungcheol to leave.

But then, Jihoon surprises him. He leans up a little closer, tipping his head to look up at Seungcheol. There is something in his expression, mockery, or apology, or some strange mix of the two. Certainly nothing that should look playful, though Jihoon manages it.

“Alright.” Jihoon says, taking in a deep breath. “I’m sorry you have legs.” He offers, in a tone that's faking apologetic astonishingly well.

There is an awkward pause, in which Seungcheol feels the strange urge to break down laughing at the entirely too self-satisfied expression on Jihoon’s face. 

He is no longer angry when he says, in a softer voice, “That’s the best apology I’m going to get out of you, isn’t it?”

Jihoon pouts.

Seungcheol can't help but laugh out loud then.

Even when Jihoon’s pretending to be respectful, he’s insolent. Somehow, it’s endearing and while still tempting, Seungcheol manages to resist the urge to haul him over his lap and spank him.

After a moment of shocked awe, Jihoon joins in on his laughter, giggling contently. Laughter sounds different coming from the merboy’s mouth, but it’s still just as infectious and easy. It feels good amid the tension, and Seungcheol thinks maybe that's where they should leave it for the night. On a high note.

“So, tomorrow then? I’ll meet you before the sun sets?” He suggests.

Jihoon regards him for a heartbeat or two, and then his expression slowly develops into an out-and-out smirk, although not one without a certain warmth. He floats a little closer, reaches out slowly, carefully as if to touch Seungcheol’s face—then his arm drops and his small fist closes around the brooch on Seungcheol’s jacket, yanking it off.

“Hey!” Seungcheol chokes in surprise.

Jihoon giggles, floating out of reach again. “Yes, I’ll come back tomorrow. Bye _Seungcheol.”_ He says, then dives into the water.

Seungcheol watches him swim towards the reef and out beyond the limits of his sight and own ability to venture. 

“He just wants me for my crown jewels.” Seungcheol muses, a smile tugging on his lips.

* * *

 

When Seungcheol moors the boat on the sand, Jisoo is waiting to greet him on the shore.

Jisoo _and_ the fisherman, who looks crestfallen at the sight of his empty boat.

“Where be my fishin’ rod? And me net?” He asks, somewhat incoherently.

Seungcheol looks blank, then startled, and then attempts to look dumb, which is rather shockingly unsuccessful. “Oh, yeah— _that_. A seagull took them.”

Jisoo looks at him as if he's appraising a horse, and Seungcheol has to concentrate not to fidget like a crook. It's not easy under Jisoo's steady gaze.

“This wouldn’t happen to be the same—rude, ethereal— _beautiful_ seagull from yesterday?”

The tone of Jisoo's voice suggests he's not a big believer in coincidences.

Seungcheol isn’t sure what else he can say—except maybe—being more inventive with who he blames next time.

“The very same.” Seungcheol says, sounding as imperial as ever. “I think he has it out for me. He stole my brooch this time.”

“Well—you’re clearly an easy target for him. Some people wouldn’t be foolish enough to put themselves in a position to make the same mistake _twice_ —but something tells me you’ll be heading out on the boat tomorrow come rain or shine.” Jisoo says with a condescending quirk of his brow.

Seungcheol gives serious thought to kicking him in the shin. 

“Yes, I will.” He says instead, shrugging off the jibe. There's no point continuing the conversation, and he's not certain he can do it without looking like an idiot anyway.

“How will I feed me young-ins?” The fisherman asks, his voice a rough gnarled rasp.

“You won’t have to. My advisor Jisoo will repay you with enough money so you won’t ever have to fish again.” Seungcheol says, which Jisoo give him a questioning look. 

The fisherman’s face lights up with relief. “Bless you yer majesty—bless you.”

Seungcheol waves him off graciously, then grabs him by the shirt and hauls him forward. “Seriously though—don’t fish near here again. Understood?” He growls.

The fisherman’s bushy eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, but he recovers quickly. “Uh—Yes, yer majesty.”

Seungcheol releases him abruptly, sparing Jisoo a glance before walking away. Thankfully, Jisoo seems more amused than offended by Seungcheol’s brusque manner and doesn't question him further.

Seungcheol walks swiftly towards the palace, a plan in place.

He needs an audience with his father, needs to draft a new law and then needs to visit the library and consult Wonwoo. It’s probably overkill to restrict fishing rights to the coast, but that’s exactly what Seungcheol intends to do next.

Jihoon's no shrinking violet—he knows that, but he can't help but want to keep his merboy away from harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I know Seungcheol seems entitled....but...he should. He's a prince. Anyway...it won't be forever. He needs somebody to slap him into place.  
> 2) All those questions in the first chapter about the smut.....lololol. Some very nervous people out there, wondering how it's going to happen. I won't spoil it for you though :)  
> 3) As I'm still planning this as I write it, if there's anything you want to see...let me know. If I can work my head around it I'll try and include it!  
> 4) Hope you enjoy! Feedback always appreciated.


	3. His hair flowing southwards.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I fucking hate summaries. Ugh--they meet up again. Stuff happens.

Jisoo asks a lot of questions.

It's not as if Seungcheol didn't know this. Jisoo has been a member of the royal court from birth, Seungcheol’s personal advisor for five years, and a right pain in the ass since forever and— _hey_ , questions are a huge part of his job.

Questions like:

_What where you doing sitting by the shore for two hours?_

_How did you manage to fall into the water twice?_

_Why do you want the court physician to check your eyesight?_

_Why are you suddenly interested in restricting fishing rights to the coast?_

_Why are you scouring the library for books in the middle of the night?_

_What do you mean I ask too many questions?_

Seungcheol doesn't have any answers for him that aren't partial truths or outright lies. He answers as tactfully as he can, but with each question Jisoo’s adding another piece in a very large puzzle and Seungcheol’s worried his brain will eventually put it together.

The trouble is Seungcheol can't really afford for Jisoo to figure out what's fascinated him so much, partially because he’s still not sure Jihoon wasn’t all a dream and mostly because he’s never been that good at sharing.

* * *

 

Seungcheol shoves his boat out to ocean on the solitary stretch of beach, riding through the breakers, and settling into his stroke once he gets past the first sandbar. 

When he reaches his usual meeting spot with Jihoon, he drops his anchor and waits, oars in hand; rowing occasionally to keep his boat from swaying too close to the rocks.

Jihoon hasn’t appeared yet and Seungcheol is restless. He walks around, from the cockpit to the stern, and he breathes in the crisp air, watches a few birds cross the sky and then disappear into the horizon, a single flat line in the distance that he could almost touch, if he reached out his hand and traced the air.

He’s about to start worrying about the Merboy when he catches a flicker of movement on the horizon.

Jihoon briefly leaps out of the water as he swims towards him, and Seungcheol breathes a sigh of relief as he watches the progression of Jihoon's smooth glide. He times it, awed by his speed and agility; Jihoon makes swimming look even more effortless than a bird’s flight in the sky.

Jihoon crests a wave once more before diving deep. There's silence—then a thump of irritation from the end of the boat that Seungcheol feels vibrate beneath his feet before Jihoon surfaces with barely a ripple.

“The bottom of your boat is very dull—I think you should know.” Jihoon says, flicking away drops of water from his hair as he straightens.

The easy smile slides off Seungcheol’s face. “Apologies. I suppose if I had the bottom of my boat decorated in _medallions_ it would be more to your taste.”

Jihoon offers him an expression of blankly confused innocence.

“Me—dal-li—ons?” Jihoon repeats, rolling the letters around on his tongue as though they formed some obscure word that he has rarely had occasion to use before. He only ends up sounding thoughtful, though, and perhaps even pleased underneath his mostly inscrutable exterior. “What are _me—dali—ons?”_

Seungcheol just blinks at him. Surprised and confused all at once. “It’s the trinket you stole from me—the day we first met.”

Jihoon crosses his forearms on the boat and rests his chin on the dip of his elbow. “I didn’t steal anything. You gave it to me. It was a _gift_.”

A grin threatens the corners of Seungcheol’s mouth; he manages to smother it.

“You have a very strange definition of gifting. You took it from around my neck without permission.”

Jihoon turns his nose up at him. “I did not. It fell—I saved it from a watery grave.”

Seungcheol crosses his arms. “Ah really? Well in that case, thank you. When will I be getting it back?”

Jihoon squeaks something unhappy.

“You won’t! If you remember correctly, I gave you something in return. I gave you that trout.” Jihoon pouts.

He makes it sound like a compromise, when it's really not.

“Which trout? The one you _gave_ me yesterday or the one you _threw_ at the back of my head?” Seungcheol says, because he thinks he might be, in some small way, still annoyed about that.

Jihoon frowns like they remember their first meeting very differently.

“I was trying to catch your attention.” He explains, his tail waving lazily in the water behind him.

“People usually just—call out to one another, they don’t _throw_ things. It was a huge fish. You could have given me  _concussion_." Seungcheol points out.

There's a sigh that sounds both highly irritated and exaggerated for effect “Well—I wasn’t sure what to say, or _how_ to say it exactly. I wasn’t sure what language you spoke.”

“Hold on—how do you know how to speak, anyway?” Seungcheol asks curiously. He's not sure he could even reproduce half the noises Jihoon can. It's sort of amazing Jihoon manages one of theirs so well. “I mean sound travels through water completely differently to air. I'm surprised you managed it, to be honest."

"Ugh, it wasn’t easy. You humans make everything a thousand times more complicated than it has to be. It took me a while to work out that you had different languages at all. It was all just noise to me at first. I thought you just had millions of words for things, like a constant stream of rubbish. It was vexing to have to sort them into different groups, regions." Jihoon says, curling his tail upwards, the shimmering scales glinting in the sunlight. "Don’t even get me started on _accents_."

“So—you taught yourself? Just by listening in?”

Jihoon waves a hand in a careless gesture. “Spend enough time around anyone and you can pick up on things. We travel a lot.”

Seungcheol gapes. “So, can you speak other languages too?”

Jihoon’s head tilts to the side as he stares at Seungcheol, and he opens his mouth to create a flowing, exotic sounding language that reads gibberish to Seungcheol’s ears.

_“Haju kuin valaan emätin.”_

Seungcheol assumes it’s a greeting of sorts and smiles wider, repeating _“Haju kuin valaan ematin—_ impressive. It sounds— _poetic._ What language was that?”

Jihoon giggles at him for several seconds before conceding levelly, “Finnish—I think. I’m not very fluent in it. We only lived in their ocean for a short time before moving on. I managed to pick up the basics.”

Seungcheol latches onto the information like a life-line, rolls it around in his head and decides it fits okay.

“Amazing. What—others do you know?”

Seungcheol’s expecting two—three languages at most, but Jihoon floats back and forth next to the boat, reciting words Seungcheol couldn't pronounce let alone comprehend in a dozen or more. He explains where he learnt them, what they mean when he can.

Jihoon might not have had the access to the education Seungcheol did—but he hardly needs it.

He’s fascinating, absolutely fascinating. He's intelligent in the way Seungcheol hadn't even known people could be, he remembers everything, connects everything, seems to hold memories in perfect clarity for whenever he might need to rifle through them for perspective.

“That’s very impressive—considering you probably don’t have access to any books.”

Jihoon makes another curious clicking sound, earning Seungcheol’s attention. “Books?”

“Oh—yeah, books are,” Seungcheol flounders for something intelligent to say, and largely fails. “things that you read, made of paper—and leather. I can bring one to show you—tomorrow.”  He offers.

Jihoon dimples, and Seungcheol congratulates himself for making him smile.

He opens his mouth to speak when Jihoon darts forward, small hand grasping the medallion he’s wearing around his neck.

Jihoon obviously means to take him by surprise—but Seungcheol was expecting that—was _hoping_ for it actually.

He begins to pull back, but doesn't get far before Seungcheol captures his wrist in a tenuous grip and uses the leverage to drag him towards the boat.

“Not so fast, beautiful,” says Seungcheol, and he watches in satisfaction as Jihoon’s ears go pink, either from the effrontery of having his grand exit interrupted or from the endearment or both—either way, he makes a note to use both the interruptions and the endearments as often as possible.

Jihoon gasps as he tries without success to twist free.

“Let go!” He pants aloud, twisting his arm in Seungcheol’s grip, fighting ineffectually.

“I don’t think so.” Seungcheol says triumphantly.

Jihoon dashes forward and tries to bite Seungcheol’s hand, but Seungcheol's reflexes are honed sharp. He turns his arm just fast enough to avoid the snap of teeth. Then quick as a thought, he grabs Jihoon’s other wrist and twists his arms up higher so that he can trap both wrists in one strong hand.

“You just tried to bite me.” Seungcheol observes, disapproval heavy in his tone.

Jihoon’s eyes widen and he shrinks in fear, or at least, what would translate as fear in human terms. On a merperson, the expression could mean anything.

Then Jihoon is thrashing his tail, splashing Seungcheol with a healthy spray of water that soaks his pants and shoes. Distressed cries come from his throat, unlike anything Seungcheol has ever heard before. Well, not anything per se - perhaps a dolphin or sea lion…except it sounds unmistakably  _human_.

“Enough—I’m not going to hurt you.” Seungcheol barks, and unexpectedly, Jihoon ceases his thrashing.  

A moment of complete stillness passes between them, Seungcheol staring down at the boy, Jihoon staring back with every emotion writ bright across his face. His pulse is a messy tremble beneath Seungcheol’s fingers, his breath shallow and uneven, and Seungcheol knows he’s trapped him.

The glint of emotion behind Jihoon’s eyes could be terror. It could be fury. It could be the shattered edge of betrayal. He twists his hand, but there's no give at all in Seungcheol’s vice-like hold.

"L-let go of me." Jihoon stammers, consonants cracking apart. He’s shaking now, voice quivering in his throat.

“No.” Seungcheol replies coolly.

Without letting go of the pinned wrists, Seungcheol pulls Jihoon closer, leans in to stare into the brightest of eyes he’s ever seen, so wide and full of fear it makes his heart ache.

“You don’t have to steal it from me—just ask. I’ll give it to you.” Seungcheol says, gaze steady as stone.

He releases Jihoon so abruptly they both jerk back, and for the second time he catches a flash of surprise in Jihoon's eyes.

Jihoon doesn’t swim away like he half expects, he floats next to the boat, rubbing his wrists with slim fingers. He looks guilty, and that's a new and strange expression on his face. Confused and unhappy enough to be genuine.

When Seungcheol reaches out again, Jihoon tenses, a wave of fear and anxiety ricocheting off him. It bounces between them until Seungcheol places his free hand over Jihoon’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb in easy circles.

“Go on, just ask me—I’ll give you anything you want.”

Jihoon’s tail twitches anxiously, creating ripples around him. He eyes Seungcheol darkly, confusion drawing his brows low and his shoulders tight. “Can I—have the medallion—please?” he asks, barely a whisper of breath.

Seungcheol grins and unclasps the medallion from around his neck. He licks his lips and leans in close, watches Jihoon's eyes widen, then narrow, all tiny flickers of expression that mean a hundred different things as Seungcheol places the chain around his neck.

When Seungcheol sits back, Jihoon makes a noise, something between a squeak and a sigh.

He glances down at the medallion with a shy smile, fingers tracing the heavy pendant reverently.

“It’s a little big for you.” Seungcheol says after a moment of reflection. The gold flashes, all masterfully sculpted elegance that dwarfs the width of Jihoon’s chest. “The chain is too thick for your neck. It doesn’t look right. You need something finer, _lighter_.” Seungcheol says.

He imagines what jewellery  _would_ suit Jihoon. An ornate silver choker, with blue crystals and green sapphires cascading down his chest. It would match the beauty of his tail, would complement the light grey of his eyes.

Jihoon squints up at him, looking distinctly off-kilter.

“Don’t sulk—you still look magnificent.” Seungcheol smiles. _You look magnificent without it_ —he doesn’t add.

Jihoon lowers his head, looking somewhat downcast, “I’m small amongst my people too.”

“And all the more lovelier for it.” Seungcheol replies instantly.

Jihoon lifts his face, completely in awe, like nobody’s ever complimented him that way before and Seungcheol almost wants to laugh at the sheer ridiculous wrongness of that.

The semi-awkward silence is interrupted by a ship horn in the distance. It's sort of muffled and far away - and Seungcheol has no idea where it’s coming from, but it serves as a reminder for him to return.

“I suppose you need to go now.” Jihoon surmises. His expression is unimpressed.

“Yes” Seungcheol sighs. “But I’ll be back tomorrow—if you’ll be here.”

Jihoon nods and grins, then dives back under in a long curve of shimmering scales.

* * *

 

Normally, Seungcheol has little use for the books in the library. He's never been one for words, though he reads them skilfully enough. He's never learned to search for things in the arching vastness of the Palace’s mammoth library, and he can't very well ask the scribes for assistance. Which means that, much as he would love to fetch every reference on mythical creatures on record, he has to settle for the first one he finds by himself.

It’s a heavy book, but he manages to conceal it beneath his cloak as he leaves the library and keeps it out of sight until he’s back in the boat—rowing towards his rendezvous point.

He decides on a different spot today, a part of the shore line that twists around low-hanging cliffs. There Seungcheol moors his boat on some rocks, tucked behind a particularly large slab that blocks the view from the beach.

Taking a seat, he pulls the book out and examines it.

It’s old and yellowed at the edges, with that particular musty smell of a book that's been around water for too long. It's in terrible condition, but perfect for demonstration.

“Hello Seungcheol.” Jihoon says, jarring Seungcheol from the intense focus of his thoughts.

Seungcheol turns to face him, “Jihoon—ah” He stills, eyeing the Merboy and—the lobster (yes, a lobster) he has perched on his shoulder.

“What’s that doing on your shoulder?” Seungcheol asks.

Jihoon hauls himself up onto the rock, water streaming off him. “Oh this? This is my friend— _Larry_.”

As if on cue, _Larry_ clicks a claw in greeting. Well—it _could_ be a greeting. It _could_ also very well be a declaration of war for All Seungcheol knows.

“ _Seriously_? Larry the lobster?” Seungcheol says in his driest voice.

Jihoon nods imperiously. “Yes—he’s my advisor. I depend on him to counsel me. He’s very wise.”

Seungcheol blinks. “Really?”

Jihoon’s serious expression collapses into a fit of giggles. “No, you idiot. It’s a lobster. I brought him for you. I thought you might like to eat him.” He says.

He gives a cautious smile as he hands the lobster to Seungcheol.

“Oh—oh wow. Thank you.” Seungcheol takes the lobster and stares at it’s sad, beady eyes for a moment, before placing it carefully into a crate on the boat.

Of course, Jihoon just _had_ to give the lobster a name—terrific. Now Seungcheol’s _never_ going to be able to eat him.

“What’s that?” Jihoon pipes up, and Seungcheol turns to find him rifling through the book.

“It’s the book I promised to bring.”

“ _Book_.” Jihoon repeats curiously, dripping all over the book as he studies it. He's trying to work out how to turn the pages without the paper going soggy and coming apart. He's mostly failing at it, and looks very annoyed about it.

He looks up at Seungcheol, asking for clarification with the inquisitive tilt of his body, “So, what does it do?”

“It doesn’t do anything really. You read it. It teaches you things.” Seungcheol says, reclaiming his seat on the rock next to Jihoon.

“ _Read_?” Jihoon questions, scooting over until he’s a warmth pressing close along Seungcheol’s side. 

“Yes, read. Don’t you….” Seungcheol pauses to think about that for a moment. “I suppose you wouldn’t know how to read, if you didn’t have access to books.”

Again, he’s amazed by how Jihoon knows so much without their aid. He doesn't know where to start, but he forces himself to continue.

“Books have words written in them, and sometimes they have pictures. There are books about lots of different things and you read the words and learn new things.” Seungcheol explains.

“What’s this book about?” Jihoon asks, eyeballing the book as the paper sticks to his hand. He tries to fold the book shut, but folding doesn't seem to come naturally to his hands. Probably not a skill set you develop underwater.

Seungcheol reaches over to unstick the page from his hand, and hold it open on the first page.  “Mythical creatures.” He says, and points at the title as if that will help. “I found it in the library and decided to ‘read’ it, so I could learn more about you.”

“Am I in the book?” Jihoon looks amused somehow, without any of the ordinary human signs of amusement.

“Well, your _type_ are mentioned. There is a whole chapter in here about mermaids.”

Jihoon’s tail splashes excitedly in the water. “Really?” He asks, clearly thrilled about the idea. He snuggles in closer, leaving Seungcheol's heart to speed inexplicably in his chest.

Seungcheol’s throat works through a nervous swallow, and he opens the book at the appropriate chapter. “Yeah—uhm—I can read it to you.”

Seungcheol reads to him from the book, old myths and retellings of drownings and sirens from around the globe.

One tale of Brazilian origin, depicts an immortal woman with green eyes and brown skin that lures sailors to her underwater palace, where they become her _lovers_.

Seungcheol eyeballs the text—then continues reading and he prays Jihoon keeps his eyes on his book and fails to notice the flush warming his face.

Another account speaks of ‘The Blue Men of the Minch’: Mermen, that supposedly dwell in the Outer Hebrides off the coast of Scotland. They’re described much like Jihoon, with the exception of blue tinted skin and razor sharp claws. According to folklore, The Blue Men will lay siege to ships and challenge the captain to a rhyming contest to decide their fate. If the captain loses, the ship will be dragged down to the depths of the ocean along with its occupants.

The blunt, emotionless description of Jihoon’s species has Seungcheol's teeth clenching. Because the book twists everything Jihoon is. It makes him sound like a dangerous animal, a mistake in the natural order, something that must be  _controlled_.

One academic account suggests that the ‘Mer’ form is not supposed to be permanent. Merfolk are supposed to fall in love with sailors and merchants, are capable of transformation. But it rarely ever happens; usually the human sails on and the Mer die, from _heartbreak_. Or the bond is too strong and the sailor jumps in the water to be with the Mer and drowns.

Seungcheol frowns, and Jihoon makes a gesture that he interprets as 'keep reading.'

A Norwegian tale mentions the existence of— _Finfolk_ : merpeople that can alternate between living on land _and_ the sea. The story talks of a fisherman, who manages to catch a Mermaid by baiting her with a silver coin.

Seungcheol gives Jihoon a knowing look as he reads that part aloud—Jihoon curls his lip.

The story goes on to say how the fisherman takes the mermaiden home, intending to share his amazing find with the village, only to find that on the journey she has miraculously transformed into a woman, with _legs_. Nobody believes that she was originally a mermaid, and out of spite, he decides to take her as his wife and enslaves her.

The story seems a bit drastic, but it definitely catches Jihoon’s attention. He hangs on Seungcheol’s every word as he reads the thrilling story of ‘Satu the Mermaiden’, cooing and awing as Seungcheol stops to describe things he’s never heard before.

Seungcheol does the sound effects too. He chooses to believe that Jihoon's impressed.

Seungcheol doesn’t care much for the plot twist ending, where the mermaid strangles the fisherman to death with her long hair and eats his corpse.

Whatever happened to fairy tale endings? Why couldn’t she just return to the sea peacefully and pop out some mer-babies.

Fuck—he wanted to teach Jihoon about their world, not give him murderous ideas.

Seungcheol pauses from his reading to clear is throat, he has a pressing question he needs to ask. “Do you think that’s true? About—the transformation?”

Jihoon stares at him from under his hair. Focused and not evasive at all. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of it before.”

Seungcheol hums and flips to the next page.

The book has pictures, mermaids sitting on rocks and combing their hair, delicate, floaty tails curling up underneath them. Unlike the stories, the mermaids look friendly, depicted as inoffensive and harmless as ridiculous mythical creatures tend to.

Jihoon doesn’t think he looks like the merfolk illustrated in the book at all—he’s certain he doesn’t look as ‘ _delicate’_ and ‘ _floaty’_.

Seungcheol’s careful not to say anything that will agree with or deny that assertion—he doesn’t want to burst Jihoon’s _delicate_ , _floaty_ bubble.

The picture on the next page shows a Mermaid lying seductively on a rocky shore. She has a very ample bosom.

Jihoon ogles the picture, then snorts. “Why does she have shells on her chest?”

“What? Don’t the female of your species wear—shell brassieres?” Seungcheol laughs.

Jihoon snorts and pulls a face at him, and this one Seungcheol is very familiar with. It's the one that's always calling him an idiot.

“No. How would they keep them in place Seungcheol?” He asks, a wry note slipping into his voice.

Seungcheol shrugs. “I don’t know—suction? Sheer force of will? Mermaid magic!”

Another cute snort. There's a laugh on the edge somewhere though. Seungcheol gets the impression Jihoon didn't laugh much before he met him.

“Are you telling me mermaids swim about with their breasts hanging out?”

"Hmm." Jihoon sounds as if he's not entirely sure what that means, but suspects the answer is still yes.

He fingers the leather of the book, marvelling at the texture. “It’s very interesting, but the details in this ‘book’ are not very accurate.”

“Well—a lot of it is folklore. I suspect whoever compiled these stories never encountered a real-life mermaid. So, it’s understandable that there will be a few inaccuracies.”

“More than a few.” Jihoon shoots back immediately, and Seungcheol has to smile.

“Maybe I’ll write a book—correct all the anomalies.” Seungcheol offers casually.

Jihoon isn't wearing his mocking face any more, he looks happy and Seungcheol is encouraged to continue. “I could write about mermaids swimming about without shell bras—or maybe I’ll write about Merboy’s that steal my medallions and throw trout at me.”

The barb causes a spark that can only be amusement in Jihoon's eye, “Will you mention the ungrateful land dweller with stupid legs, who doesn’t appreciate nice gestures?”

Seungcheol snaps the book shut, and Jihoon startles.

“Yes, I will—right after the chapter about the Merboy that gets a paddling for being rude. And not forgetting the Merboy that gets caught in the fishing line because he swims to close to the shore and has no self-preservation instinct.”

Jihoon opens his mouth to counter—and comes up short. He harrumphs. “You sound just like my father.”

Seungcheol’s not sure whether to be honoured or _insulted_ by that comparison.

“Why? Because I care about you and don’t want you to get injured?”

Jihoon makes a brittle noise which sounds frustrated. Unmasked conflict flashes in his expression, so frank that even in profile Seungcheol can see it.

Seungcheol wants to point out how foolish Jihoon is to risk his tail coming to see him every day, but he recalls the thrum of something like excitement in the boy when Seungcheol read to him. He remembers, strangely distantly, that he's talking to a merboy and what must it be like, trying to explore a world that's so different from everything you're used to. To do it anyway, regardless, because you wanted to know how it worked.

Seungcheol finds himself saying, “It’s natural to be curious—I’m curious about you too. But you have to be careful. Your father may appear to be overbearing—but perhaps he just fears for your safety.”

Jihoon would be considered a marvel of the world. If anyone catches him, he’d be put on display and ogled—maybe even dissected for research. That's probably the last thing his father wants, that's the last thing Seungcheol wants, the thought makes him sick. Though Jihoon doesn't seem half as worried as Seungcheol because all he gets is a sigh and a tail-curl of impatience.

“It’s not just that.” Jihoon says. He speaks blandly, but frosty hostility flashes in eyes. “My father’s pretty closed minded. He would flip a fin if he knew I was talking to you. He’s never interacted with land dwellers—but he has all these opinions about them anyway. He hates them.”

Seungcheol frowns. “Why?”

Jihoon’s eye twitches, mouth suddenly thinning out. Seungcheol can tell he really doesn't want to answer that.

“Because you’re dangerous, cause you pollute the sea, cause you’re naturally selfish as a species, cause you take and never giving back.” His words pose no question. They're the resigned observation of inevitable fact.

“Yes, but—”

“Oh—and you might try and eat me.” Jihoon adds.

Seungcheol’s eyebrows rise high towards his hairline, and his jaw drops for a long, stunned moment.

“What? Eat _you_? That’s _insane_. I would never—That’s practically like cannibalism. Or—half cannibalism anyway.”

Jihoon makes a theatrical effort out of sighing and rolling his eyes, “Don’t be so shocked. My people used to eat your species not long ago.”

Splendid—he really didn’t need to know that!

"Cannibalistic mermaids," Seungcheol mutters to himself, slowly, just one more thing on the list he can never tell anyone about, ever. Not that anyone would ever believe him. He's going to turn into one of those cautionary tales about lonely men who go crazy at sea - and start rambling about mermaids and sea monsters.

Oh god, there are probably sea monsters too.

"Not any more." Jihoon says testily, and for a second Seungcheol thinks he's said that last part out loud. "It was something our ancestors did, but we’ve evolved past that. Just like your species evolved too.” He says, and a moment later his smile turns into a more challenging smirk as he adds, “We’ve surpassed you in fact."

Seungcheol quirks a single deliberate eyebrow.  “Oh really. Merpeople have _surpassed_ humanity?”

Jihoon’s expression manages to look like a smirk despite the neutral line of his mouth. “Yes. Unlike _some_ —we are capable of living at one with nature. Our lifestyle doesn’t damage our habitat and even our diet is respectful of the ocean. We only eat what the sea has in abundance.”

“Like what?” Seungcheol snivels.

“Kelp—seaweed—rock slime,” Jihoon recites, Seungcheol makes a face. “Flemp—”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes in doubt. “ _Flemp_?”

“Yeah, flemp. You’ve never had _flemp_?” Jihoon says. He doesn't sound surprised in the slightest.

Seungcheol’s sure Jihoon’s just made ‘flemp’ up to sound superior.

Unless _flemp_ is merman tongue for something basic like—eel or coral or something.

“I have no idea what flemp is, but it _doesn’t_ sound very appetizing.” Seungcheol mutters, turning aside with a scowl.

“Flemp! Oh, flemp is delicious. I can’t believe you don’t know what flemp is. You’re missing out.” Jihoon says, gazing up into the sky with a little smile on his face.

Seungcheol assumes that Jihoon is trying his hand at looking smug. He has the sort of face that looks like it enjoys the opportunity to be smug.

“Flemp is the best. I love flemp. After a long day of swimming, I can’t wait to get home and have a nice juicy flemp. Hmm—flemp. _Flempy—flemp—flemp.”_

“Stop saying flemp!” Seungcheol snaps, feeling ridiculous. Like a child denied some trifling favour.

Jihoon snorts dryly. “You’re just jealous that you haven’t tasted flemp. It’s okay, you _should_ be jealous. Flemp’s _amazing_.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. He’s silent for a beat, recognizing that Jihoon is deliberately goading him, nudging Seungcheol to retort, to escalate. Normally he would be insulted, but he's enjoying the conversation far too much.

“Yeah well, you haven’t ever tasted—” Seungcheol flounders for a minute, for something that would seem wildly out of place on the ocean. “ _Strawberries_!”

Jihoon narrows his eyes and his tail thrashes the water once in dissatisfaction. “You just made that up. There’s no such thing.”

“Ha! Oh boy—do I feel sorry for you.” Seungcheol says, shaking his head in mocking disappointment. “Strawberries are _so_ real. They’re a fruit; red and sweet and juicy. I could eat a whole punnet in one go. And they’re amazing on cakes and pies. Strawberry jam is my favourite.”

Jihoon looks sceptical now. Eyebrows knitted in confusion as he regards Seungcheol.

Seungcheol tilts his head in mock sympathy. “Oh dear. You don’t know what any of those things are, do you? You’ve never had cake, or jam—or delicious pie.”

Jihoon makes a gesture that probably means a lot more underwater, some sort of jerky hitch of his elbows. “You’re right. There’s a lot of things I haven’t tried. My diet is a bit boring compared to yours.” He murmurs, deflating a little.

He looks miserable now, and Seungcheol could slap himself in the face.

Great. Way to go Seungcheol—depressing your little merboy friend.

“I’ll bring you some.” Seungcheol blurts out.

Jihoon turns his head to look at him, confused.

“Strawberries.” Seungcheol clarifies. “I’ll bring you some tomorrow. We grow them in our gardens. You’d love them.”

There’s a wordless flicker of excitement in Jihoon’s eyes, and Seungcheol stares at it until it gives way to fidgety nervousness. “I—don’t know what to bring you in exchange.”

“You can bring me some flemp.” Seungcheol suggests., but Jihoon’s already shaking his head, expression clouding.

“No.”

Seungcheol purses his lips. “Why not?”

Jihoon looks away, tail flickering in agitation. “Cause—I made it up. There’s no such thing as flemp.” He mumbles.

He looks so dejected, so pouty and adorable, but his confession draws a bright bark of laughter from Seungcheol's chest, and he is helpless to do anything but throw his head back and laugh.

“Oh fuck. You’re too cute. That’s the cutest shit I’ve heard.” Seungcheol gasps, body shaking with unguarded mirth.

Jihoon sighs and splashes grudgingly. Though not hard enough to actually get Seungcheol wet.

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny. I wanted to be as interesting as you.” Jihoon mutters, but his tone is humouring rather than annoyed.

“It’s okay Jihoonie.” Seungcheol snickers, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. “You don’t have to bring me anything. You are plenty interesting enough—trust me.”

The expression Jihoon's wearing now is hard to read, there's surprise there, but also something amused and a little helpless.

“That’s hardly fair. I should give you something in exchange.” Jihoon murmurs sullenly, then quickly brightens. “Do you like coral?”

Seungcheol suppresses a smile at the question. Jihoon looks like he's a second away from clapping his hands together, and jumping back into the sea to fetch Seungcheol a piece of coral.

“I can’t ever say I bemoan the lack of coral in my life.” Seungcheol admits, and absolutely doesn't laugh at Jihoon’s pout of disappointment.

Jihoon mutters something about the delicious crunch of coral, that Seungcheol is going to pretend he didn't hear.

“If you insist on offering me something in exchange, maybe you could let me—I dunno.” Seungcheol shrugs, forces a nonchalance that he almost wishes was real.

“Let you what?” Jihoon prompts.

Seungcheol weathers his bottom lip in thought. He has to turn his head away from the Merboy sitting next to him, beautiful and distracting and just within reach.

His hands clench into fists against his thighs. He wants to touch Jihoon, in a way that twists his insides into trembling knots and darkens the blush in his cheeks. He feels the urge like a spiraling rush along his skin, difficult but not impossible to resist.

 _Yet_.

“Can I—touch your tail—fin—thingy?” He says, gesturing at Jihoon’s tail. He's not up on his fish-identification yet, so that's the best he can manage.

Jihoon releases a tiny gasp, barely audible.  

Seungcheol braces himself for what looks to be a rather abrupt rejection. In the circumstances he thinks it's best to try and make it as painless as possible. For everyone involved.

"Ah, of course, if you're not comfortable with that, it's completely fine. I was just curious and your tail is very different and--distracting, but I don’t -"

“You can, if you want to.” Jihoon interrupts, calmer than Seungcheol expects.

The hushed permission crests over him, inundates him, and Seungcheol feels the rush of his own pulse, loud and stormy beneath his skin.

He’s nervous. A good kind of nervous. Butterflies, he thinks with a self-deprecating smile and a puff of a laugh.

Slowly, carefully, he lifts a hand up and reaches to touch Jihoon’s hip, where skin and scales converge.

Jihoon flinches a little at that first point of contact. But he doesn't move away. He stays exactly where he is, which Seungcheol deems is permission enough to continue.

He crests his hand over Jihoon’s hip, marvelling at colour that almost brightens under his touch. The tail itself feels smooth and sleek, the scaling texture subtle, and it’s not at all slimy like Seungcheol might’ve thought, but it is damp.

Jihoon’s feathery fin flickers in the water as Seungcheol maintains a light, explorative touch and he briefly wonders if the sensation is pleasant for Jihoon.

Is it ticklish?

Seungcheol laughs, soft and not entirely intentional, then drops his hands lower, smoothing it over the glittering mass of blue and green scales that make up his tail, stopping wear it curves into the water. He repeats the motion, watching as the scales shift and smooth under his caress like a ripple, constriction and softness and then silk.

As he carefully explores the sleek mass of scales radiating heat beneath his palm, Seungcheol can't really help thinking about how Jihoon fits together.

Which bones are the same as his, which organs they share too.

How he can manage to be a mammal and fish at the same time?

How can he breathe under water? Doesn’t he need gills for that—or does he manage it with some obscure merperson magic?

God! He never expected to need complex knowledge about fish human hybrids and their respiratory systems.

Seungcheol realises he’s petting the tail before long, fingertips caressing the tapered, elegant curve of tail where a thigh would be if Jihoon were human. It’s then he notices the tiny slits on the side of Jihoon’s stomach, where the skin is split horizontally in painful looking lines.

Apparently, he _does_ have gills.

Seungcheol raises a curious eyebrow and holds his fingers uncertainly over the skin - not skin? Whatever it is—he can feel a ghosting heat radiate from the area, and when he strokes two fingers along the thin slit on Jihoon’s hip—Jihoon startles.

His breath hitches, eyes fluttering closed and neck arching sharply back as he gasps a ragged sound. “Ah!”

Seungcheol stills. He freezes in place, overwhelmed and burning, desire to continue potent in his veins.

Jihoon’s head is still tilted back, cheeks flushed, lips parted and chest heaving as he pants. The tip of his tail is curved—up—up—out of the water, but slowly eases back down with a splash. Then he releases a quiet _moan_.  

It's a sound Seungcheol will treasure to the day he _dies_.

Did—did Seungcheol just do what he think he just did?

He is mortified at the thought. He is also, confusingly and simultaneously, warmed by it. The rising blush leaves him lightheaded.

Belatedly, Seungcheol realises his fingers are still pressed against the thin opening, still caressing the slit gently. He immediately pulls his hand away and clenches it into a fist, because that's _clearly_ an intimate area.

He probably shouldn’t have touched Jihoon there without permission.

Yes—okay—Jihoon _did_ permit the touching originally, but he probably didn’t expect Seungcheol to start fingering his gills in their magical sea time adventure.

He opens his mouth to apologise, but suddenly Jihoon’s eyes open, alight with something wholly unfamiliar to Seungcheol but it feels like it’s a good sign.

“Did—did I hurt you?” Seungcheol asks, careful and measured.

“N—no. It’s nice.” Jihoon says, eyes at lazy half-mast, a nearly imperceptible tremor coursing through him.

Seungcheol exhales a relieved breath and puts his hand down again, presses his fingers into the scaled edge just below the gill, where Jihoon’s thigh should be. He can hear the way Jihoon’s breath hitches in his throat and he loves it.

He begins to feel braver, lets his hand rise curiously up Jihoon’s tail towards his stomach.

Jihoon’s top half is undoubtedly human—and Seungcheol’s only received permission to touch his tail, so he _shouldn’t_ continue his exploration in that direction. But, it's already much too late, he's already touching, pushing warmth where scales blend beautifully into skin, where the smooth curve of hip becomes waist.

Jihoon’s so much more real than Seungcheol expects. He _feels_ human, _feels_ like flesh and blood and maybe that should be strange but it just makes Seungcheol want to press harder, touch and stroke and hold and maybe never let go.

Seungcheol spends a moment touching the milky skin of Jihoon’s stomach while Jihoon breathes and twitches under the attention, more nervous shivery amusement than impatience.

He can't resist lifting a hand, fingers catching the curve of Jihoon’s chin, thumb tracing the smooth curve of his jaw.  

Jihoon really is _gorgeous_ ; sparkling, liquid eyes, pink lips, lashes breaking against the tops of his flushed cheekbones. He’s dried off a little in the setting sun, leaving his golden hair to whisper down one side of his face like a careless afterthought.

Seungcheol raises his other hand to frame Jihoon’s face, and Jihoon tenses at the heightened intimacy, eyes widening momentarily and breath catching in his chest.

“You’re beautiful,” Seungcheol tells him, letting his thumbs brush over Jihoon’s cheekbones.

Jihoon breathes surprise at the soft admission. Slowly, he lets a tiny smile, shy and almost coy, creep onto his face.                

Seungcheol’s gaze falls naturally to his mouth, watching it curve beautifully. He manages to fights the urge to lick his lips, but his fingers are moving again without volition.

Jihoon has a very pretty mouth, full and petal soft, softer than he's expecting. It feels weirdly intimate to have his fingers trailing across another man's mouth. But he's too curious to apologise, or make excuses, or stop touching.

Jihoon’s still like this, there's no watchful suspicion, there's no edge. He's that special flavour of quietly pliable.

As Seungcheol’s thumb slides over his lower lip, he parts his mouth obediently. Seungcheol doesn't even have to exert pressure. Like consent has taken him all the way down and quietly drowned him.

And suddenly Seungcheol’s struggling to keep his mind from veering, uninvited, into territory best ignored. Because he definitely—certainly doesn’t have permission for _that_.

When he tears his gaze away from Jihoon’s lips, he finds the Merboy watching him, face soft and curious, like he's waiting, or maybe _daring_ Seungcheol to follow through, to act on whatever this thing is that has him twisting.

He _could_ kiss Jihoon—it would be _so_ easy.

Perhaps Jihoon will bite him of he tries, that changes nothing about the temptation. 

Seungcheol swallows, fingers not quite as certain where they shift in the hair at the back of Jihoon's neck, fine and soft and _human_. He's not sure if he's allowed to hold on, but he can't quite make himself let go.

He can't take his eyes from Jihoon's face. He stares, and Jihoon stares back, and the moment stretches taut with messy, unmuted heat.

Then he lets the world snap back.

He brushes his thumb over Jihoon’s lower lip once more, and then, with fierce reluctance, he draws his hand back.

“I—" Seungcheol’s voice stumbles ineffectually. “Thank you.”

“You—you’re welcome.” Jihoon whispers, and he sounds so shaken. There's nothing of his usual sly confidence when he smiles.

Silence stretches between them, so complete that Seungcheol could swear he hears Jihoon's heartbeat. Or maybe that’s _his_.

Seungcheol lays his palm flat on the mossy surface of the rock next to Jihoon’s. He doesn’t miss the way Jihoon’s fingers twitch at the proximity, shifting a little closer as if to reach out.

Seungcheol doesn’t think he should reach out again. He’s touched Jihoon enough for one day.

Fuck it.

Seungcheol slides his hand across the rock first, moss slippery beneath his hands as he spreads his fingers until he meets Jihoon's. Jihoon doesn’t pull his hand back, but opens it ever so slightly, letting their fingers overlap

When Seungcheol finally raises his eyes to Jihoon’s, the Merboy quirks an eyebrow at him but lets one corner of his mouth raise to let Seungcheol know the touch is welcomed; appreciated even. Seungcheol smiles back much wider and brighter.

They end up with their hands loosely clasped in the middle of the rock, looking out onto the ocean.

The sun has nearly set, and Seungcheol doesn’t know how the time keeps flying like this.

“I have to go, I’ll be back tomorrow,” Seungcheol promises, finally pulling their hands apart. “I’ll come earlier if I can.”

Jihoon’s eyebrows are pinched as he considers, and at last he says, “We could go swimming—If you liked.”

“Okay—but—only if you wear a shell bra.” Seungcheol deadpans.

Jihoon huffs a laugh and rolls his tail in a sarcastic gesture, before slipping into the water and swimming off.

Seungcheol watches him go with a grin on his face and thinks, not for the first time, how even more beautiful he must look in the ocean.

He can’t wait.

* * *

 

Jisoo’s waiting for him by the shore when Seungcheol docks his boat.

He’s not sure what comes first, the laugh or the disbelieving eyebrows. “A single lobster? After three hours of fishing! What a fine catch indeed.”

Seungcheol drops his gaze to the crate. He almost forgot about Larry, with his sad beady eyes—and now when he thinks of it—the journey back did sound a lot _clickier._

“That retched seagull was there. Hampering my progress again.” Seungcheol offers with a shrug.

He reaches down to pick Larry up, tries not to get snipped in the process.

Jisoo’s expression is still amused, but there's that glint of familiar suspicion in his eyes

"You realise that, at some point, someone's going to notice that you don’t have any fishing equipment in your raft, that you in fact, have _no_ interest in fishing, and that you very rarely come back with any fish."

"In my observation that's rather standard for hobby fisherman." Seungcheol says, trying not to trip over any parts of the boat as he climbs out.

Jisoo makes a soft noise of amusement, then gestures at the lobster clicking away in Seungcheol’s hand. “Shall I have the cook prepare this for your supper?”

“No!” Seungcheol gasps, holding the lobster against his chest protectively. “You can’t cook _Larry_.”

Jisoo looks incredulous. “You— _named_ him. You shouldn’t name things you plan on eating Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol places Larry on his shoulder much like Jihoon did. Larry seems to enjoy the view from up there—he stops clicking. “I’m not _going_ to eat him Jisoo—I’m going to keep him. As a pet.”

“You can’t keep a lobster as pet!” Jisoo says immediately, infuriating as ever.

“You’re right—that would be foolish.” Seungcheol tilts his head just slightly to the side, a steadying pause before he says, “Perhaps I should make him my _advisor_ instead.”

Jisoo snorts and traps Seungcheol with a withering look.

“Come along Larry—let’s find a tank for you to float in. We have urgent matters to discuss.” Seungcheol says, strolling back towards the palace. 

Jisoo trails behind him, fuming while Seungcheol holds counsel with Larry the Lobster—or pretends to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Hhohohohohoh. I thought it would be interesting to make gills an erogenous Zone.  
> 2) I may have taken some inspiration from the little mermaid. I watched it for the first time recently and some things just didn't add up to me. Maybe I can rectify them XD  
> 3) I like the idea of Seungcheol bringing Jihoon things to show him, teach him stuff etc. Curious Jihoon is so cute in my head I don't know why.  
> 4) Hope you enjoy reading! Let me know what you think!


	4. A promise by moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strawberries  
> Swimming  
> Smut  
> Some other stuff too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this beautiful Jihoon fanart.  
> [Beautiful art of Jihoon with necklace](https://twitter.com/kwanie_nonie/status/934197277626912768)  
> [Amazing Merboy Jihoon art. I cry.](https://twitter.com/sc0upsw00zi/status/934089033747013633)
> 
> And look at the necklace I had in mind for him :) I think it would be perfect on him.  
> [Merboy Jihoon Necklace I saw](https://twitter.com/havoktreeftw/status/933879956727353344)

The coral reef is dazzling this time of day, alight in an array of bright colours that glimmer and dance in the blaring sun. Golden rays stream down amidst the current, and Jihoon swims through the warm patches with a smile plastered on his face—he hasn’t been able to shake it all morning, even though he’d spent _most_ of the morning with his father and—fuck knows that never leaves him in a good mood.

He’s putting his unusual good cheer down to his upcoming meeting with Seungcheol.

 _Hmm. Seungcheol_.

And no, he did not just _sigh_ dreamily while thinking of the land dweller, although he will admit that if he _was_ to sigh dreamily over a human—Seungcheol would be acceptable.  

He’s become aware of an unfamiliar  _something_ in his chest, a kernel of warmth that doesn't belong, pulsing in time with his heart. The pull is stronger when he’s around Seungcheol, and it takes most of Jihoon's considerable willpower not to follow him home sometimes. Not that he’d get far.

In a sense, this attachment frustrates him, because he’s usually more careful with humans than this. But he’s never been this drawn to a human before, and he’s never been touched _there_ before either

It’s just….there’s something about  _Seungcheol_ that just turns him into a mess with a too-fast heartbeat.

When Seungcheol asked to touch his tail—Jihoon let him, though he didn’t understand the fascination. Nearly everything in the sea has a tail just like it and he’s touched other tails with not much fanfare.

Far more curious were Seungcheol’s legs. Jihoon couldn’t quite bring himself to ask to touch _those_ , though it would have only been fair.

Then, when Seungcheol first stroked his tail, Jihoon shuddered, completely unprepared for the way it felt. The touch was cautious and exploratory— _pleasant_ —until Seungcheol’s fingers reached the open edges of Jihoon's gills and Jihoon saw _white_.

It was—it was— _damn_ , there was no other word for it.

It felt _amazing_ , in a way his naked waist had never felt before. It was sensitive inside, a strange flaring tickle of heat that made the breath he didn't need catch in his throat and his tail curl up out of the water.

It certainly wasn’t the image Jihoon’s mind conjured, when they’d made their agreement, but he found the sensation far preferable, all things considered. He’d wondered absently if it was unfair—if Seungcheol didn’t know what he was doing—should Jihoon have stopped him despite his own enjoyment? 

He’d even wanted Seungcheol to touch him there _again_. But he didn’t know how to ask, because how the hell did you ask for something like that?

No matter how noisily Jeonghan always argues otherwise, Jihoon is not an idiot. Naïve as he is, he understands the implications of Seungcheol's continued proximity—of the way his body reacts to it.

He’s a confused jumble of emotions as he swims through the water—and almost knocks into Jeonghan in his distraction.

“Jihoon!” Jeonghan cheers, gripping his shoulder to steady him. “I’m glad I found you. Minghao discovered a new shipwreck on the other side of the reef! It’s old, but untouched. We’re all going to go investigate it!”

“That’s nice.” Jihoon says dismissively, ducking around him. He doesn’t mean to be rude—but seen one shipwreck, seen them all, and he’d much rather spend his free time with Seungcheol.

He doesn’t get far before Jeonghan is flanking his path and darting into Jihoon's direct line of sight, jaw set stubbornly.

“Won’t you come with us?” says Jeonghan, pursing his mouth into a thin line.

“I can’t.” Jihoon says quickly. “I’m scouting for a new cave.” He adds in defence.

Jeonghan tilts his head in curiosity, and his hair wafts around him for it. “What’s wrong with your current home?”

Jihoon heaves a sigh of irritation. He’s already running late as it is. “It’s—too big. Blobfish have colonised it. I want something with a better view—oh just _so_ many reasons Jeonghan. I just don’t have time to talk about it now, okay?”

Jeonghan’s answering silence stings like censure, but Jihoon tries to smile genially as he swims away. “Have fun at the shipwreck!” He calls behind him, diving quickly through a forest of seaweed.

* * *

 

Seungcheol heads out to the beach after lunch, the strawberries he had gathered from the garden that morning, concealed in a square of cloth.

He trots out to the end of an old, disused pier half a mile up shore from his where he had taken to meeting Jihoon, avoiding the rotten boards and gaping holes with practiced ease.

“Jihoon?” Seungcheol calls out. 

When there is no answer, he spreads his cloak out on the wood, sits cross-legged at the edge of the pier and resigns himself to waiting.

Jihoon pops out of the water maybe fifteen minutes later.

“There you are,” Seungcheol smiles in relief, holding out his hand. “Where've you been?”

Jihoon grabs Seungcheol's hand and uses it to pull himself up onto the pier, where he settles next to Seungcheol. “Sorry. I was finishing my duties. I’ve been neglecting them recently and my father was becoming suspicious of how I spent my time. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by neglecting them further.”

Seungcheol's brow furrows at that, because he'd never quite considered that Jihoon had  _come_  from somewhere. It seemed as though Jihoon had just appeared in his life without attachments or obligations. He always likes to imagine Jihoon frolicking by the shore between their visits, swimming fast and free with no purpose but enjoying the feel of the current and keeping his belly full.

Speaking of which—the Merboy’s stomach makes a grumbling noise of complaint. He may be tiny, but the growls that his stomach is capable of producing are startling.

Seungcheol’s lips twitch in amusement. “You’re hungry?”

Jihoon’s face heats as he looks away and nods. “I didn’t have time to eat—I didn’t want to miss our meeting.” He mumbles, and Seungcheol feels an immediate surge of warmth in his chest.

“It’s a good thing I brought these then.” He says, and then unties the bundle he had set next to him, letting strawberries roll this way and that on the uneven surface while snatching one up and thrusting it forward. “Here.”

“What are they?” Jihoon says, with an endearing air of childlike captivation as he blinks at it.

“They’re the strawberries I promised to bring. Try one. You’ll like them.”

Jihoon doesn’t respond for a moment, and Seungcheol is compelled to take a bite in demonstration.

“Go on.” He says, holding the rest up to Jihoon’s lips.

Jihoon leans forward and places his mouth where Seungcheol's had been, taking a tentative bite.

Now—Seungcheol doesn’t enjoy watching people eat even at the dullest of times, but it’s amazing how Jihoon can make _anything_ interesting. The second Jihoon bites down, his eyes light up, his tail curls and he makes a quiet squeaking noise of delight.

He likes it, there is no doubt about it, but the best part is seeing the anticipation on Jihoon's face while he chews and swallows.

“Well?” Seungcheol prompts.

The Merboy’s eyes flutter shut briefly, and when he opens them again there is bright sincerity there.

"Wow. It’s—it’s……the best thing I ever tasted." Jihoon says, sounding absolutely _amazed_ , and really, it’s only fruit.

Seungcheol beams and picks up another. “More?”

Jihoon scoots closer and opens his mouth. With his pale skin glistening wet in the sun and his lips stained with strawberry juice: bright red and inviting, Seungcheol suddenly feels a sharp pang of want that he can only hope doesn’t somehow reveal itself on his face.

He imagines leaning in, just a little, to lick the lingering taste of fruit from Jihoon mouth. He’d run his tongue along his bottom lip before pressing his mouth to the upper one in a soft, barely-there kiss.

“Cheol!” Jihoon whines, gesturing to the strawberry still pinched between Seungcheol’s fingers.

Seungcheol coughs awkwardly. “Oh—sorry. I got distracted.”

They sit across the deck, where they can still see the beach but are unlikely to be spotted if they aren’t being looked for, and Seungcheol feeds Jihoon strawberries one by one.

Seungcheol has eaten strawberries every year and more rare, delicious fruit besides, but he's never eaten any of it with one tenth of the ecstasy on Jihoon's face.

He wonders how the Merboy would react to other foods: the texture of bread must be new to him, the scent of coffee, the richness of chocolate. He wants to share these simple things with Jihoon, watch him dissolve into strange little giggles as he tastes things for the first time.

When they finish, there is strawberry juice coating Seungcheol’s fingers and trickling down the back of his hand, but before he can wipe it off on his robe—Jihoon’s fingers are curling around his wrist and tugging his hand closer.

Jihoon darts his tongue out, tracing the trail of juice down the back of Seungcheol’s hand, before drawing two of Seungcheol’s fingers into his mouth and _sucking_ —keeping eye contact all the while.

Seungcheol is really fucking glad he’s already sitting down because Jihoon is currently...fellating is too strong a word...and anyway Seungcheol isn't sure you could technically fellate somebody’s fingers. But by god is Jihoon making the effort.

There is something relaxed and sensual about every single movement, something that takes years of practice and that Jihoon is doing almost _unconsciously_.

Seungcheol is choking on a mixture of saliva and— _arousal_ , yet he makes no attempt to pull his hand back, makes no attempt to stop Jihoon from licking—from _sucking_ his fingers. And he probably should. He's smart enough to know that this isn’t quite right - for all that it is  _good_.

Seungcheol actually feels his own eyes roll back as Jihoon hums appreciatively around his fingers and, god,  _fuck_ , tonguing between them to get every last drop. He licks up Seungcheol’s palm and even bites the fleshy part of his thumb before sucking again, making sure he gets all of it.

Seungcheol stares at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as Jihoon finally finishes with a few sultry licks, and sits back to blink at Seungcheol. The picture of innocence once more.

“I think you might have a sweet tooth Jihoonie.” he says eventually, when it’s either that or groan embarrassingly loud.

“They tasted really nice.” Jihoon says quietly.

Seungcheol’s not entirely sure of he’s referring to the strawberries— _or his fingers_. He’s not going to ask, but Jihoon’s eyes are more than a shade darker than before, even if his smile is still loose and relaxed.

“I can bring you other things to try.” Seungcheol says throatily, thinking of melted chocolate, cream, caramel, honey—cause _fuck_ —there’s so much _potential_ in those.

Jihoon looks at him searchingly, as if he isn’t quite sure if this is a trap of some sort. “What would you want in exchange?” He asks, licking his lips.

Seungcheol’s mind fills with some pretty visceral imagery in response to this question, but nothing he could ask for without getting slapped.

“Nothing.” Seungcheol says, giving a one shouldered shrug. “I’d bring them to you freely.”

Jihoon laughs like he's not entirely convinced of that.

Maybe merpeople can read minds?

Seungcheol really hopes not.

* * *

 

For a while, they sit and talk of their day. It's oddly nice just listening to Jihoon talk when he’s not making insulting remarks about his legs, Seungcheol finds. Jihoon has a great many interesting stories.

In turn Jihoon asks what Seungcheol thought of his lobster dinner, and Seungcheol winces as explains how he didn’t have the heart to eat Larry.

Jihoon doesn’t seem offended that Seungcheol has not eaten him, that he’s keeping him as a pet. In fact, he giggles when Seungcheol tells him how he almost gave Larry a hot bath before thinking better of it, how lobsters are not exactly designed for cuddling, and how Larry snips continuously throughout the night.

As they talk, Seungcheol keeps glances down at Jihoon’s hand gripping the edge of the deck and thinks about holding it again.

He could totally hold it.

He let Jihoon suck his fingers earlier and felt him up yesterday by accident; Jihoon can certainly let Seungcheol hold his hand. But before he can reach out, Jihoon turns to face him.

“You said you might swim with me today. _Will you?”_

Seungcheol bites his lip and hums thoughtfully. “You’d like that?”

Jihoon nods, and a split second later there’s a splash as Jihoon shoves off the docks and slips somewhat gracefully into the water below.

It only takes a moment’s thought to make the decision and Seungcheol stands to undress with Jihoon’s wide eyes following him.

He quickly pulls off his coat, shirt and boots, before staring down into the dark water, where Jihoon is doing his impersonation of a duck, perfect stillness above, restless motion below.

Seungcheol is almost certain Jihoon wouldn't appreciate that comparison, but it's unbearably fascinating to watch. Not to mention a little frightening, if he's being honest. He's never been in the water with a Merperson before, he feels strangely breathless and unmoored at the thought, like a boat on the ocean.

“I’m not going to be as good at swimming as you, you realise that.” He says, removing his belt. “I might even need you to hold my hand.”

Jihoon giggles. “I know. But, it would be nice for us to be in the water together. And, I want to show you my secret _hole_.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows leap. “Oh, _really_?”

Jihoon nods. Face the picture of innocence. “Yes. It’s over there by the rocks.”

“Oh—you mean a _cave_.” Seungcheol chuckles. That makes more sense, if somewhat more disappointing.

He unbuttons his britches next, and tugs them partway down, letting gravity do the rest and pool them around his ankles.

The little squeak Jihoon emits then, makes Seungcheol pause and look down.

The Merboy is leaning ever so slightly towards him, and his posture looks strangely inquisitive.

“What?”

Jihoon gasps. “A third leg? Are you deformed?”

“No—no.” Seungcheol says, shaking with laughter. “That’s not a third leg Jihoon. Though, I’m very flattered you’d think it could pass as one. Don’t you have…”

Seungcheol trails off, mind spiking off in a new direction—how do Jihoon’s species make love? He obviously doesn’t have a cock. Or maybe he does, and it’s sheathed. Maybe he’s not a ‘he’ at all, not how humans understand it, anyway. Lots of species have multiple genders. But during their conversations Seungcheol has been referring to Jihoon as a Mer _boy_ and Jihoon has yet to correct him....

Still staring up at him, Jihoon murmurs, “It looks interesting.”

“ _Interesting_?” Seungcheol’s not sure if that's a compliment. He's tempted to treat it like a compliment. It's probably best to treat it like a compliment. “Thanks.”

“And _huge_!” Jihoon whispers in awe.

Seungcheol’s eyebrows lift through the roof.

He knows it was meant innocently, can tell from Jihoon’s wide, grey eyes, but that doesn’t stop his pulse from racing faster, his heart from clenching. There is certainly something to be said about the leer of a merman and what it does for one’s ego.

“Uhh—thanks. I—try my best?” He doesn’t know why his makes that a question. What are you supposed to say to that anyway?

When he looks back at the water Jihoon is grinning, tail creating ripples in his excitement and any nerves Seungcheol might have had about getting in the water vanish.

In the next moment, Seungcheol is stepping out of his pants and diving over the side of the pier into the water. He goes down; and then he bobs back up, treading.

"It’s actually not as cold as I thought it would be." he calls, admiring Jihoon's joyful expression as he floats towards him.

“Good.” Jihoon smiles, “So, you won’t mind if I….” He trails off, flipping backwards into the water and splashing Seungcheol with his tail.

“Show off.” Seungcheol grins, and starts doing the breaststroke towards the cave Jihoon pointed out. He can't see it, but Jihoon is suddenly swimming alongside him and guiding the way.

It's a mindless pleasure, pushing through the water. The breaststroke is slow. It needs leg power, endurance. Seungcheol loves it for that, and he swims and swims in the warm surface water of the ocean. He stops and turns at one point, paddling as he stares at Jihoon.

“You’re actually a very good swimmer.” Jihoon says, even though he is clearly dawdling for Seungcheol’s convenience, he's barely moving to keep the pace Seungcheol sets. 

Seungcheol’s brow lift in surprise. “Really?”

Jihoon smirks. “Am I likely to praise you out of pity?”

“Yes. That’s _exactly_ how I expect any compliment from you.” Seungcheol deadpans.

Jihoon splashes him again with a quick jerk of his tail. “I’m being _serious_. Most humans I’ve seen splash about weakly, struggling to make any speed in the water. I’ve seen a lot of them _try_ to swim and—I’m genuinely impressed with your efforts.”

Seungcheol grins a tad smugly. “Well, I _did_ have swimming lessons as I was growing up, but I never excelled at it. I suppose it _does_ help not having clothes weighing you down.”

“And a third leg.” Jihoon adds, with all seriousness.

Seungcheol snorts so violently it nearly hurts. That’s never going to stop being hilarious.

Jihoon ventures ahead of him, out of sight briefly to scope out the cave, then swims back, holding out a hand.

“The tide is high today, so the entrance is underwater. But the rest of the cave is mostly above water. I can guide you through if you hold on to me.”

Seungcheol nods and takes Jihoon’s hand, letting the merman pull him towards the rock face, head still above water.

“Warn me before you swim under. Drowning is my _least_ favourite way to die.” Seungcheol reminds and Jihoon rolls his eyes, nodding. As if Jihoon would forget such a small courtesy.

The dive underwater is brief, but the salt stings Seungcheol’s eyes as he adjusts and it’s difficult to see at first. Thankfully, Jihoon is holding his hand and tugging him along—guiding him as Seungcheol simply lets himself be pulled forward through the water.

There is indeed a pocket of air on the other side—and when they finally break the surface, they find themselves in a world of mottled sunlight, a rocky ceiling stretching high above them and the roar of a waterfall cascading into an adjacent stony pool. Improbably enough, the cave looks like some sort of sinkhole in a thick jungle and Seungcheol fills his lungs with much needed oxygen and scrubs at his eyes as he surveys his surroundings.

Suddenly Jihoon is pressing close, wrapping his tail around Seungcheol’s legs, helping to hold the man above water without Seungcheol have to exert himself trying to perform some makeshift attempt at a doggy-paddle.

“Thanks.” Seungcheol pants, voice echoing in the cave. “I don’t think I could have done that without you. I’m not used to the salt water in my eyes.”

Jihoon leans in close and gently blows cool air on his face. Instead of the dry irritation Seungcheol expects, his eyes suddenly feel _soothed_. As if by magic the sting dispels.

“Better?” Jihoon asks.

“Uhh—yeah. Thanks.” Seungcheol grins as Jihoon tail slides away. Seungcheol makes a quiet noise at the brief, sharp cold of the water - before the sensation is gone. He decides that he likes the strange feeling of smooth scales sliding against his bare thighs.

The cave is otherworldly in nature. Something his wildest imagination couldn’t conjure, and he can’t believe a place like this exists so close to the palace and he’s never discovered it in his 25 years.

The cave walls seem to narrow as they drift deeper inside, the water becomes much shallower, and Seungcheol is able to navigate through it by gripping the rocks on each side. The water is clearer inside the cave, the bottom lined with clean, white sand, and the walls are coral in every shape and vibrant shade. They stretch away and nearly out of sight.

There’s a dry area of the cave up ahead overflowing with lush, green plants, so thick they block a significant amount of the light inside, wherever it’s coming from. 

As Seungcheol wades closer, he finds a crack through the roof of the cave allowing a single column of sunlight to pierce through. It would be a beautiful place to sit, nap, relax—perhaps have a picnic. If he wasn’t butt naked obviously.   

Seungcheol manages to lever himself up to the small clearing easily enough, while Jihoon has to pull himself up the hard way, tail curling and then straightening to give him enough of a shove to reach the lip. He looks much clumsier trying to get a hand up to brace himself on the slippery rock, and Seungcheol makes a split-second decision.

He steps down from the clearing and hikes Jihoon up out of the water. The Merboy lets out a little startled mew, but doesn’t fight. His small arms wrap tightly around Seungcheol’s neck, tail springing out, as Seungcheol scoops him up with one arm beneath his back and the other supporting his tail. 

He settles Jihoon down on a flat ledge of stone, worn smooth by the water, close enough to the water that Jihoon could easily dive back in if need be.

Sitting down next to him, Seungcheol examines the cave walls from his higher perch. They seem to be embedded with glass stones here and there, that shine amongst the duller slate. “Wow. It’s really amazing in here.”

 “Yeah,” Jihoon says, brushing his hair out of his eyes and leaning back on his elbows. The movement looks impossibly graceful, and Seungcheol is momentarily distracted by the droplets of waters along Jihoon’s throat. There's elegance in the slant of his posture, in the narrow lines of his torso.

His cheeks are flushed pink, his naked body pale and luminous when the sunlight catches his wet skin, and Seungcheol wants a portrait painted of the Merboy in that moment, almost as much as he wishes he could press himself against every inch of Jihoon.

The thought startles him into a blush and he averts his gaze at the last second with great difficulty.

Nothing seems to pass Jihoon’s notice. He cocks his head a bit, looking at Seungcheol with an inscrutable sort of interest written on his face, and then reaches out and cards Seungcheol’s dripping wet hair back from his forehead, and he smiles just enough to show his dimples.

“So handsome.” Jihoon whispers.

Seungcheol’s brain hangs on to that word, replays it over and over. Maybe it thinks it can lessen the shock through repetition. But it just rattles around in his skull like there isn't a single other thought in there.

Did Jihoon just call him handsome?

“Do—do you mean the cave?” Seungcheol stammers.

Jihoon rolls his eyes expansively. “Yes, Seungcheol. That’s what I meant. The _cave_ is handsome.” He observes dryly, picking up a tiny glazed pebble and flicking it at Seungcheol’s shoulder.

Seungcheol ducks his head, feeling a little sheepish—a little stupid to have ruined whatever moment they were about to have.

Jihoon snickers, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “I happened upon it by chance.” He says cheerfully, smoothing over the moment. “I was unable to return to the reef one day during a heavy storm, and so I searched for a place along the shore to sleep for the night. It didn’t seem like much at first—then I ventured deeper and was able to build myself a nest in that rock pool over there. I was just about to sleep, when the moon shone down through the gap in the stone and the entire cave lit up. If you think it’s amazing now, you should see it at night.”

“Maybe I should come back at night then.” Seungcheol prompts.

“You…..should. That…..would be….nice.” Jihoon says, distractedly.

When Seungcheol turns his head to look at him, Jihoon is still laying down, head propped up on an elbow, but now his gaze if fixed intently on Seungcheol’s _crotch_.

Seungcheol swallows. He’s keenly aware that he’s sitting there naked, and of the way that Jihoon’s gaze keeps shifting, then coming back to his face.

“Paint a portrait—it lasts longer.” he jokes stupidly, and Jihoon’s cheek twitches just a little, as though some part of him understood that.

He doesn’t seem embarrassed about being caught staring. He’s looking down at Seungcheol’s cock with widening eyes, burning with interest—still innocent? Seungcheol doesn’t know, and he can hardly think clearly.

He clears his thought awkwardly. “So…”

“Can I touch it?” Jihoon immediately interjects.

Seungcheol eyeballs him from eight inches away, but Jihoon seems to have perfected 'innocence' when he really needs it.

For all the water surrounding them, his throat is rather dry all of a sudden, and he swallows heavily but his voice is still a bit cracked when he says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea Jihoon.”

Jihoon doesn’t seem to agree, if his affronted expression is anything to go off of. “Why not?” He sounds more demanding than curious.

Seungcheol’s feels his face heat considerably. “It’s—hard to explain.”

“I let you touch my tail.” Jihoon says, a bit more loudly and a bit more quickly. That same little burst of energy that’s in his words propels him across the space between them.

Suddenly he’s quite a bit closer, and Seungcheol vaguely wonders if Jihoon can feel the body heat radiating from him, because he feels as though he must be a thousand degrees right now.

“True—but that’s very different.” Seungcheol points out, it seems strangely important that he make that distinction.

Jihoon simply stares at him as if he thinks Seungcheol's being confusing on purpose, and he can't work out  _why_. “It is _not_ different. You touched my tail—I should by right be allowed to touch something of yours.”

Jihoon’s curiosity is understandable, but Seungcheol wants to point out this isn’t usually how other species are studied. Even though he touched Jihoon yesterday—for the very same reason.

_Damn his hypocrisy._

“Okay, you can touch anything you like—but just not that.” Seungcheol argues.

He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly developed _morals_. Half of him wants to let Jihoon touch his dick—his bottom half mostly. Although, his top half is _slowly_ coming around the idea as well.

Jihoon looks out of sorts now. He keeps flicking him these short glances, almost like he can't help himself.

“Is it,” Jihoon pauses, eyes looking away again. His downward eyebrows are more expressive than he’d probably like to know. “Is it an intimate area?”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol says meekly.

Jihoon’s cheeks darken in response, but otherwise, he appears unaffected, still as though this is pure curiosity, until his head lowers. Looking somewhat downcast, he says, “I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to intrude—I just thought it looked….”

Too quickly, Seungcheol says, “No, it’s fine. I just--“ And then he cuts off like some bumbling, blushing girl instead of the confident Crown Prince he usually is. “You’re curious, I understand. It’s just a sensitive area and—it would have been improper for me to let you touch it when you weren’t fully aware of _what_ you were touching.”

Jihoon nods slowly, looks like he's tucking that piece of information away for later.

After a moment, Jihoon asks, “What is it called?”

“Uhm—a penis.”

Immediately, Jihoon throws his head back and barks out a laugh; it resonates startlingly loud in the cave. “A penis? Oh god—that’s hilarious.”

Seungcheol frowns. That was not the reaction he was expecting. “I suppose it _does s_ ound strange, but that’s what most people call it. I personally prefer the work cock.”

Jihoon’s still laughing, possible even harder than before.

Seungcheol huffs irritation. “Ok. What about _Dick_?”

Jihoon’s thumping his fist off the rock now, tears streaming from his eyes.

“Weiner? Schlong? _Willy_?” It's really not getting better, no matter how many words fall out of his mouth.

Why did Seungcheol think this ‘words with friends’ lesson would be a good idea, anyway? He should have just let Jihoon touch his dick and saved himself from all this mockery.

Had anybody else laughed about his willy in such a way, Seungcheol would have punched them. Instead he lets his gaze go shuttered a little and huffs out a laugh.

Five minutes later, Jihoon is still laughing so hard, he hardly notices Seungcheol reaching over and shoving him off the rock into the water.

“Hey!” Jihoon pouts at him, and Seungcheol mirrors it.

“Stop laughing at my dick.”

* * *

 

Jihoon retaliates to his unwelcomed shove into the water, by hurling the first fish he can get his hands on at Seungcheol.

It’s a small fish, the size of his palm—but Seungcheol reacts as if Jihoon has conspired with a shark.

Nevertheless, Seungcheol dodges it in surprised reflex, eyes narrowing, “What did I say about throwing things? Do you want a paddling?”

Jihoon’s eyes narrow in amusement. “As _if_ you could catch me.” He challenges, then shrieks in surprise when Seungcheol goes tumbling into the water after him to give chase. 

He almost catches Jihoon on his first lunge, narrowly missing him as Jihoon darts off to the right and circles the edge of the cave.

“Aww, sad human is too slow.” Jihoon teases.

Seungcheols smirks. He’s looking at Jihoon more intently now, and suddenly darts forward in the water to grab at his arm.

He’s no match for Jihoon, though, and tumbles down with a splash when he misses and Jihoon swims beyond his grasp.

Seungcheol surfaces, splutters, then laughs. “Dammit. So close.”

Jihoon snorts. “Hardly.”

Seungcheol lunges towards him again, but Jihoon plunges down in the span of a heartbeat, splashing water just as Seungcheol crashes into the water he occupied a split-second before.

“Missed me again.” Jihoon giggles, emerging a few feet away. “You should just give up and admit you suck.”

Seungcheol’s head wrenches aside, spotting him. “Never.”

Seungcheol tries to corner him between two rocks next, and Jihoon realises his predicament too late as his back hits the wall.

“Let’s see you get out of this one.” Seungcheol smirks, closing in on him, his glide focused and cautious. There's something predatory in his movements. Jihoon has seen Sharks hunt, and he recognizes this stance.

He doesn't want to think of himself as prey.

Quickly, Jihoon sweeps his tail underwater, knocking Seungcheol off his feet. Its takes him so off-guard that he recovers, sputtering and coughing up water, only in time to watch Jihoon drift past.

Seungcheol draws his brows together, the look of fierce determination spreading over his face. “So that’s how it’s going to be? Playing dirty? Taking advantage of my weakness underwater? Well, two can play at that game, Jihoon.” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon laughs, “Such empty words, when you have yet to lay a single finger on me.” He boasts, turning on his tail and diving down again, deep and out of Seungcheol’s reach.

After twenty feet, and a few seconds, he stops and turns to seek Seungcheol, expecting to find him attempting some pathetic dive. Instead, Jihoon’s eyes widened and his heart stops as he takes in the sight of the human floating above him, face down in the water, eyes closed.

With his heart dropping into his stomach, Jihoon shouts, “Seungcheol!!”

With a swish of his tail, Jihoon instinctively speeds through the water towards the prone figure. Just as he’s within arms-length, Seungcheol’s eyes snap open and the next thing Jihoon knows, Seungcheol’s grabbing him under his arms and propelling him upwards. 

Jihoon lets out a high, bereft cry, struggling against Seungcheol’s hold on him. But Seungcheol just grins, pulling Jihoon back, arms like steel bands holding Jihoon firmly around the waist.

“ _Gottcha_.” Seungcheol declares triumphantly.

“No! It’s not fair.” Jihoon cries, tailing thrashing back and forth in indignation.

He can feel Seungcheol’s rumbling laughter, can see Seungcheol’s wide grin over his shoulder and it only serves to rile him up further.

“You cheated!” Jihoon huffs, trying to twist out of Seungcheol’s grip. His tucks his tail underneath, trying to propel himself forward, but Seungcheol holds onto him with embarrassing ease. 

There's another shiver of laughter over his nape. “Don’t be a sore loser now Jihoonie. I could have said your tail and affinity with water gave you a big advantage over me earlier, but I didn’t. I was just using the skills at my disposal, _as were you.”_

Seungcheol’s tone sounds casual enough, but Jihoon doesn't think he's imagining the triumphant purr laced beneath the words.

Jihoon is quick to huff and protest, “Cheating skills. I only got closer because I thought you were drowning.”

There’s a rough chuckle near his right ear, and Jihoon mewls helplessly at the sudden warmth of Seungcheol's body pressing close along his spine. Seungcheol's hand is gentle, curling around Jihoon's waist as he leans closer still.

“Your concern warms my heart Jihoonie.” Seungcheol's lips brush Jihoon's ear with the words, and the unexpected intimacy makes Jihoon shiver.

“Don’t get used to it.” He huffs, but his fins flicker in anticipation as warm breath fans his nape. “I’ll think twice before trying to save you again. Should know better than to trust a human.”

Seungcheol affects an elaborate noise of disbelief, then his legs are sliding open around the width and weight of Jihoon’s tail, pining it firmly between both thighs to stop Jihoon from slipping away.

“I was planning on releasing you, you know. But now I think I’ll just keep you as my captive.” Seungcheol teases, voice hot against the curve of Jihoon's ear in a way that makes him shiver, and squeak quietly. 

“Really? And what will you do with me?” Jihoon drawls, the tension in his frame easing as he melts back into Seungcheol’s arms.

Seungcheol sounds very pleased when he next speaks “Think I should reel you back to shore and show off my catch of the day. Maybe there will be a big celebration—with a feast. I think I’d enjoy making _you_ the main course.”

Jihoon pouts, giving a few idle flicks of his tail.  “You _wouldn’t_.”

Seungcheol squeezes him tightly, rests his chin on Jihoon’s shoulder. “Oh, _wouldn’t_ I?”  He echoes.

Jihoon’s tail curls, sliding round the Seungcheol's legs. Which feels completely and totally the right thing to do. Even if it's a strange and foreign urge.

“We’re a long way from the shore Seungcheol. I think you’ll struggle hauling me back.”

Seungcheol huffs amusement in his ear. “Perhaps you’re right. That _would_ be exhausting. Guess I’ll just have to feast on you here.” he croons, before dipping his head and nipping Jihoon’s shoulder lightly.

Jihoon giggles, squirming weakly, attempting to twist away from the smirking lips trailing along the side of his neck. “Hey—Ow.”

“Delicious.” Seungcheol hums, tightening his forearm fractionally and lifting Jihoon out of the water a little. “Can I have another bite?”

Jihoon laughs, shaking his emphatically. “No! I’m not food!”

“But I’m _hungry_.” Seungcheol affects a whine, leaning down to nip at Jihoon’s other shoulder and then give it a satisfying scrape with his bottom line of teeth against it.

“What if I fetch you some trout in exchange for my life?” Jihoon tries to bargain.

“Hmm.” Seungcheol pretends to consider this. He loosens his arms by degrees when it becomes clear Jihoon is no longer about to try to escape.  “How much trout are we talking about?”

Jihoon shrugs, “Two?”

“Only two?” Seungcheol gasps disbelievingly. “In exchange for your life? You’ll have to do better than that Jihoonie.”

Jihoon yelps surprise at the unexpected sting of teeth at his throat, and then Seungcheol's mouth is moving, mapping Jihoon's overheated skin with lips and tongue and teasing bites.

Seungcheol finds a particularly ticklish spot behind his ear, and air sucks sharply into Jihoon's lungs, and he can't think. His head buzzes, his chest is tight with too many sensations, with one sensation growing louder than the rest—

“Oh god. Stop Seungcheol! You’re killing me!” Jihoon squeals laughter, tail helpless to assist in his plight.

“Ticklish?” Seungcheol says, voice all breathless amusement and filthy delight.

Jihoon hums agreement, then bubbles up with laughter as Seungcheol tickles that spot again, all the while dragging fingers lightly across his skin, making it twitch and shiver.

“Ah—ah—Cheol! It’s not fair!” Jihoon whines.

Seungcheol's laughing again, soft and wet, and it really is completely unfair, how easily he unravels all Jihoon's secrets.

“You’re a lot more fun to play with then to eat. Maybe I’ll keep you as a pet instead. Build you a big glass cage to keep an eye on you. Then you’ll be mine forever.”

Jihoon takes a sharp, unsteady breath when Seungcheol’s arm slides down his waist, settling inches away from the sensitive skin between his ribs and where his scales start. He feels Seungcheol press closer, chest a solid line of heat against his back, a hardness pressing against his upper tail.

“Would you like that Jihoonie?” Seungcheol purrs in his ear.

Jihoon knows Seungcheol is talking of the glass cage, but his body reacts to that question entirely differently. He feels a combination of excitement and nervousness at the thought of Seungcheol’s body inside of his. He feels his insides clench at the thought of Seungcheol pushing that hardness into him.

“Tell me.” Seungcheol prompts, squeezing him a little. “Would you let me?”

Jihoon’s skin flushes hot, and he wonders for an instant if there's some chance he's misinterpreting the human’s intentions. Seungcheol is impossibly warm, almost feverish. He might not realize what he's doing. He might not realize how he _sounds_ , his voice low and rough in Jihoon's ear.

Then Seungcheol's lips press to Jihoon's throat, soft but deliberate, and Jihoon knows he has understood perfectly. A second press of lips, just below the first, and Jihoon's mouth parts on a shaky inhale.

"Seungcheol," he manages, sounding only a little choked.

Then Seungcheol’s forearm is gone, and he’s folding both hands around Jihoon’s waist, closer to the destination Jihoon wants. He shudders at the first brush of Seungcheol’s fingers against his slit, warm and wet. Even with that brief point of contact, he feels startlingly close to the precipice.

His hips jerk away and muscles clench tight at the thought of the intrusion, but Seungcheol just touches him gently, thumb stroking back and forth, circling the lines of his gills, eliciting a series of twitches. 

The touch is unsettling, but not unpleasant. Jihoon thinks he’s almost grown used to it when suddenly there is a quiet groan against his nape and Seungcheol’s wet fingers are curling _in_.

It's a strange almost uncomfortable tightness and then - oh - it's not strange at all.

Jihoon’s eyes roll up into his head and flutter closed. He can feel the blood throbbing in his cheeks, in time with the beating of his heart. The sensation of fingers inside his gills is bright and overwhelmingly sensitive, muted underwater but no less intense.

“Cheol,” Jihoon chokes out as Seungcheol’s fingers brush across a spot inside that makes his eyes cross.

“ _Jihoonie_.” Seungcheol nuzzles at his neck and thoughtlessly, Jihoon tilts his chin in submission to his questing. Deadly teeth scrape gently along the skin on his throat, turning into soft sucking pressure.

"Yes," Jihoon says, without any real idea what he's agreeing to. But it doesn’t matter, because whatever it is, it's already a yes. He should probably worry more that Seungcheol makes him want to skip everything, and go straight for the yes. Every time.

Jihoon whimpers and reaches blindly to cover Seungcheol’s hands with his own on the rise of his pelvic bone. It only takes the slightest pressure for Seungcheol to curl his fingers deeper and Jihoon’s whole body draws tight, on the edge of _something_.

He barely has time to process all the contrasting sensations of pleasure and pain before Seungcheol straightens up behind him.

Immediately, Seungcheol says, “Sorry.” He lets go and moves his hands away, and Jihoon’s abdomen clenches in loss.

Then Seungcheol’s warmth against his back disappears as he floats away, and that’s a guilty disappointment.

Jihoon spins in the water to meet his gaze, finds Seungcheol’s eyes black with ecstasy, and brimming with such a contradiction of emotions, Jihoon isn’t ready to process it all. He watches, jaw dropped open, breath coming fast, as Seungcheol’s hands twist together, throat moving awkwardly in one narrow swallow after another.

“I don’t know what came over me there.” Seungcheol says, the breathless release of tension making it sound almost excited.

Red and surprised, Jihoon croaks, “It’s _okay_.”

"Jihoon I…." Seungcheol's hand closes on his arm, strong fingers curling warmly around Jihoon's elbow, tugging him  _closer_.

Jihoon stares down at Seungcheol's hand for a long, surprised moment before thinking to meet Seungcheol's eyes. The cryptic look he finds there could mean anything and Jihoon can't respond if he doesn't know what Seungcheol is trying to _say_.

So, he holds patiently silent.

Seungcheol's fingers are gentle enough, but distractingly warm against his already heated skin and Seungcheol's eyes seem restless on Jihoon's face, not quite sure where to look.

"Never mind. We should probably head back, before somebody comes looking for me.” Seungcheol announces abruptly, releasing Jihoon and swimming to the front of the cave.

There is something awkward in the suddenness of the movement, a guarded self-consciousness. The overwhelming sense of happiness fades from Jihoon’s senses with the extra distance—with the sudden lack of contact—and he feels something too much like guilt rolling off his human.

He wants to protest that Seungcheol  _can_  touch him, that he doesn't mind, but the words stick in his throat and all he can do is swim after him weakly.

 

* * *

 

When they leave the cave, Jihoon swims with Seungcheol back to the shore in companionable silence, that nosedives into an _awkward_ silence once they arrive and just stare at each other.

“Uh—I should get dressed.” Seungcheol says tentatively. Like Jihoon has a say in the matter.

Honestly, if he did, he might object.

“Okay.” Jihoon replies simply.

Jihoon perches himself on the edge of the pier, watching as Seungcheol pulls himself up onto the deck, twisting his hair in his fingers to wring the water from it and starts dressing.

Seungcheol’s clearly distracted, doing up his laces with clumsy fingers, throwing uncertain looks at Jihoon the entire time. 

When he’s finished, he turns to stare out onto the ocean.

When he doesn’t say anything, Jihoon clears his throat softly and says, “Will you return tomorrow?”

“No—I can’t. I have business to attend to.” Seungcheol says abruptly. He bends down to bind the lacing of his boots, but even when he straightens he refuses to meet Jihoon’s gaze.

“Business?”

Seungcheol is lifting his cloak off the dock, brushing ineffectually at it when he finally catches Jihoon’s eyes and gives a quick nod, “Yes, I have to travel to a neighbouring kingdom for a few days. My father wishes me to attend and I can’t say no to him.”

He doesn’t actually sound like he wants to go, or maybe he just doesn’t sound like he’s happy to have to tell Jihoon.

For his part, Jihoon doesn’t want to hear it. His stomach sinks, and his voice sounds just as hollow as his chest suddenly feels when he says, “Oh.”

It’s been almost a week of Seungcheol’s daily visits, and he cherishes them—even if it never feels like enough time at all.

Enough time for what, however, Jihoon isn’t sure. He didn’t have a plan when he swam out every day to meet the human, and he doesn’t have one now, and now Seungcheol is going away for a visit he _may_ have just made up to avoid him, and Jihoon doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“I expect it shouldn’t be more than four days.” Seungcheol says after a long, awkward silence.

Jihoon’s tail is twitching nervously beneath the waves, but he doesn’t let Seungcheol see. “I understand.” He says, a little dispirited.

He can hear Seungcheol’s boots shuffling on the deck, and half expects him to leave without another word. He’s surprised to find them coming into view as Seungcheol steps closer. “Perhaps we can meet the night I return?” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon tips his head up to look at him and quirks a surprised eyebrow, which only makes Seungcheol quirk one in return, “You _did_ say the cave was more beautiful at night—did you not? It would be a good opportunity to see it.”

Jihoon’s tail answers before he does, splashing happily. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Seungcheol smiles warmly, and moves towards him, a hesitation in his posture and in every step. He reaches down for Jihoon one instant, pauses the next like he's reconsidering the wisdom of the gesture.

Jihoon can't decide whether to be grateful or angry at the care he’s taking.

Finally, Seungcheol’s hands drop to cradle Jihoon’s head, one sliding into his hair and the other resting under his chin to tip it up gently.

“Till then, please take care. Be wary of any boats you see and don’t befriend strangers.” Seungcheol whispers, leaning in and pressing damp lips to his forehead, grazing the back of his hand over Jihoon’s cheek. 

Jihoon blinks and nods dumbly. He’s a little overwhelmed and beginning to feel as though he might simply melt right here into a puddle on the deck.

Seungcheol pats his cheek before departing, and Jihoon watches him walk back across the beach, waiting until he’s a blurry speck in the distance, before diving underwater.

When he returns to his little home, he unearths his trinkets from their hiding place under the rock and fawns over them—as he does every night. The medallion Seungcheol had ‘given’ him is by far his favourite; there’s something special about not having stolen a treasure to acquire it.

That night, lying in his nest of seaweed and bits of rescued cloth, Jihoon closes his eyes and has memories in place of dreams, Seungcheol’s medallion tucked close against his chest.

* * *

 

The next day, Seungcheol is on horseback destined for an audience with the King of a smaller neighbouring Kingdom.

Seungcheol’s father is gradually handing him over responsibilities that were once his, preparing him for his future role.

It’s character building, certainly, but Seungcheol’s beginning to think his father selects the responsibilities he finds most boring if he’s being honest. So _he_ doesn’t have to do them.

Trade negotiations, peace treaties, faraway diplomatic visits—they’re all Seungcheol’s responsibilities now, adding to the weight of the crown on his head.

He’s not alone, of course.

Jisoo’s along for the journey because _‘No king should be without his advisor’_ , and Mingyu’s been roped along too as he’s still considered the Prince’s guard (even if he hasn’t bested Seungcheol in a duel since they were _twelve_ ).

Seungcheol insists on bringing Larry with him, as he honestly fears for his safety, and the court’s chief scribe, Wonwoo, has also been dispatched to handle the paperwork.   

The amount of careful preparation that goes into meetings with 'allies' is both terrifying and mind-numbingly dull (though Seungcheol isn't entirely sure you could label anything from this Kingdom an 'ally' no matter how friendly and welcoming they appeared.) But there was a lot of careful talking, during which nothing much was actually said, a lot of staring, feasting, and a lot of standing around at careful attention, mostly for show. 

Seungcheol is surprised at how acutely he feels Jihoon's absence. It's ridiculous, of course; he never thought he’d miss questioning his sanity on a daily basis.

It’s not as though the Merboy’s absence should rightfully feel like a hole in Seungcheol’s life; even since more or less seeing each other every day, they’ve hardly been together _all_ of the time.

For the last week Jihoon has merely been a delightful presence. Someone who hangs around, someone to share jokes and conversation with in the evenings. Not having Jihoon about doesn’t exactly change Seungcheol’s daily routine. He still gets up, still spends half the day meeting dignitaries and the other half bored out of his mind in court. He’s still _prince_ when all is said and done.

Yet, he can’t wait to return to his kingdom for the sole purpose of seeing him again.

Ultimately it doesn’t matter that he only gets to see Jihoon for a few hours a day—those hours are his most cherished.

* * *

 

When Seungcheol retires to the guest room one night, Jisoo is having a conversation with a palace servants that involves a great deal of arm-waving and Jisoo hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand.

“What was that about?” Seungcheol asks, when Jisoo comes over to speak with him a moment later.

“A message from our host. The king is offering you the use of his courtesans, _if you so desire_.” Jisoo informs him tiredly.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes and flops down on the cushions near the window.

Their host is going out of his way to ensure this treaty is a success, flaunting his wealth and trying to appeal to Seungcheol’s carnal desires.

Seungcheol, _uncharacteristically_ , has yet to be impressed by any of it. Hell, the man might as well offer him seventeen unicorns, his own wife and a comb made out of Satan's teeth and Seungcheol would still be unaffected by all of it. The luxuries that once appealed to him now seem dull in comparison to what he has at home. Namely, his own lovely, trout flinging Merboy.

“I do not desire it.” Seungcheol says finally, waving a dismissive hand at Jisoo.

“Really?” Jisoo's shocked, yet proud expression is fairly new, but Seungcheol's becoming familiar with it too.

“I’m here to represent my father and my kingdom—not to indulge.” Seungcheol drawls.

Jisoo's eyes are fierce as he considers, and at last he says, “Well—I’ve always said there is something distasteful about bedding another man’s property, but it’s never stopped you _before_.”

He’s still looking surprised enough that Seungcheol wonders if he ought to be offended.

He nods, deciding not to call Jisoo out on his lack of faith in his morals. Overall, his life is simpler if Jisoo keeps underestimating him

“I’m a changed man now, Jisoo.” Seungcheol juts his chin, bare defiance. “Perhaps I have grown into my role as you once said I would. I have— _other_ interests.”

Mingyu joins him by the window then, pats him on the shoulder. “You’re not missing out on much. I had a sneaky peek at them earlier. There are much finer options back at home.” He says with a wink.

Seungcheol directs his gaze out the balcony towards the seafront, a private smile on his face. “Yeah. You’re right about that.”

* * *

 

After the visit ends and Seungcheol returns to the palace, there is still plenty of work to be done: a truce to negotiate, papers to be draw up and a treaty to consider. Seungcheol, naturally, has trouble forcing himself to focus on anything.

Anything that isn’t _Jihoon_.

Even his sleep is patchy, broken too easily by nothing at all. Dreams of Jihoon end jarringly, warmth giving way to the cool darkness of his room.

Sometimes he dreams of them walking along the beach, hand in hand, strolling under the sun. Jihoon has legs, and he has legs, and everyone has legs and life is less complicated. He’s pretty sure they have a dog in that dream too.

Other times, he dreams they’re both merman and they swim in a fantastical underwater world together. Everyone breaks into song every five minutes, and they have pet seahorse and use a starfish as a Frisbee.

Then there was that _one_ dream where Jihoon had legs, but the upper body of a fish and tried to eat him!

On second thought, that was more like a _nightmare_. Seungcheol definitely couldn’t wake up fast enough.

Of course, he dreams of Jihoon less innocently too.

He dreams about touching him, about pressing their lips together, about so much more.

Wanting to touch Jihoon is not an entirely new experience, though he has never wanted quite so desperately as he does now. The overwhelming need to feel Jihoon under his lips; under his hands; under his tongue, is becoming more and more difficult to push back. He is rapidly running out of reasons to not do anything about his desires.

What they started back in that cave—was definitely a step in the right (depending how you look at it—weird) direction. And yet, back then he became numb with indecision.

Besides touching, he has no idea what to do, or where to begin, or how to make it something Jihoon might want as much as he does. How would a sea creature receive any such overtures, and how would Seungcheol even consummate with a merman?

Is there a place for his dick?

Usually with males there is at least _one_ place for his dick.

But from studying Jihoon’s body—he can’t see a dick shaped hole below waist level. So that means Seungcheol's probably going to end up in some sort of frustrated, fish-based, underwater frottage thing that's going to leave him covered in scales or 'egg jelly' and losing his fucking mind.

Or spawning a million mer-babies by jizzing in the wrong place, or something equally fucked up.

There's a world of difference between imagining it—wondering what it might be like—and the reality of it, the possible disastrous consequences if he does something wrong.

He should probably get a second opinion. An— _educated_ opinion.

Unfortunately, he’s currently in the company of Jisoo and Mingyu, so he’ll just have to settle for Wonwoo’s opinion.

He _must_ be smart—he wears _glasses_.

“Wonwoo—you’re an intelligent man. You’ve read a lot of books, studied abroad, have a wide range of knowledge on several topics, correct?”

Dry judgment flashes in Wonwoo’s narrowed eyes, as though he's genuinely upset Seungcheol needs to ask such a question.

“Why, yes your highness. Your father was generous to fund my education many years ago and I have worked hard to ensure I am conversant in many topics to be of assistance when I can.”

Seungcheol grins. “So, you don’t mind answering an important question I have?”

“Of course not.” Wonwoo says quickly, looking pleased to have been asked.

“Great. How do fish have sex?” Seungcheol asks simply.

The entire table turns silent.

Both Jisoo and Mingyu stop what they’re doing and turn to face him fully at that, and Wonwoo stares at him, as if he's not entirely sure whether he's serious, or joking.

Seungcheol can’t help but frown under the scrutiny. It’s a simple fucking question. “What?”

"That’s the important question you need answered?" Wonwoo says and manages to make it sound like Seungcheol's disappointing the entire scientific community.

“Yes. I really need to know. Or does your knowledge not cover that particular _area_?”

Wonwoo looks at him with a puzzled frown but nods with the fortitude of a born teacher. “It does.”

“What exactly has that got to do with the treaty you are supposed to be reviewing?” Jisoo interrupts.  

Seungcheol sets the document aside. “I’m taking a break. I’ve been studying these details for days. Now I want to learn _things_.”

Jisoo gives an exaggerated shake of his head, like a disappointed parent, and goes back to his scroll and quill.

Seungcheol turns his attention back to Wonwoo, who takes off his glasses and cleans them on the front of his robe, looking thoughtful. 

Perhaps Wonwoo doesn’t know _either_. It’s probably not something a scribe is taught unless he seeks the information for himself or is asked to search for it. Come to think of it—Seungcheol can’t imagine anyone before him needing to consult the scholars about ‘Fish sex’.

Seungcheol watches, quietly expectant, until finally Wonwoo answers. “Well—it really depends on the species.”

Seungcheol blinks, leans forward despite himself. “I was just curious if they...” he trails off, miming a crude gesture with his hands.

Wonwoo eyeballs him like he’s gone mad! “Uhh—so you were wondering if there was a _penetrative_ act?”

Everyone is suddenly _far_ more focused on Seungcheol than seems fair. He clears his through awkwardly, “Yes.”

Wonwoo sighs, like the conversation is taking valuable time away from his exciting job of treaty negotiation. “Although they are often separated into males and females, they do not have sex in the conventional sense. In most species, the female will find a safe and suitable location to scatter their egg jelly, and the male will swim by and fertilize the scatter.”

Seungcheol turns the words 'egg jelly' over in his head, and then shoves it into a dark corner and most definitely doesn't ask about it.

“That’s a bit _dull_. Where’s the fun in _that_?” Seungcheol can't help the way that tumbles out.

Wonwoo pulls a face, as though this alone is proof of insanity.

Seungcheol swallows, forces his voice to be as bland and uninterested as Wonwoo’s usually is. “I’m just saying. No dick action? It’s a little dull is all. Live a little.”

“They’re fish.” Jisoo says, like that explains _everything_.

“Something tells me fish don’t concern themselves with how dull their sex life is.” Wonwoo says. There's a flavour of something there which might be teasing or mockery. It's hard to tell with Wonwoo.

Seungcheol slumps back into his chair dejectedly. He realises he should try and look less disappointed about the lack of penetration during fish sex—everyone _is_ still looking at him.

“Of course,” Wonwoo begins again, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “That’s just one type of mating. Fish have _several_.”

Seungcheol’s brow rises in interest, “Go on.”

Wonwoo’s expression is some terrible mixture of glee and smugness as he continues. “In other types, the female is impregnated by the males fin, and expels the larvae after a few days. Some fish are even born with both male _and_ female reproductive organs, while others can change their sex on whim. Then some fish can reproduce without another sex present at all, but will mate with others in their species _anyway_.” Wonwoo drawls out the last word like he still thinks it's a dubious concept.

“Huh.” Seungcheol’s brow furrows in wonderment. “Why would they do that?”

“I’ll leave that to your imagination.” Wonwoo drawls. He may or may not have just _winked_ at Seungcheol. It’s also quite possible he had something in his eye.

Seungcheol hopes it’s the latter.

Jisoo slams both hands down on the table. “Are we seriously having this discussion right now?” He hisses, still not believing they can talk sensibly about things like this.

Seungcheol ignores him. He’s already somewhere else entirely - well his brain is anyway.

“I heard a pig’s orgasm lasts half an hour.” Mingyu pipes up, with what he seems to think is a useful piece of information.

It’s not.

Jisoo gives him a look that can only be quantified as  _pitying_.

“I wonder what being a pig must feel like.” Mingyu says wistfully.

 _“You are a pig.”_ Jisoo mutters under his breath.

Mingyu doesn’t seem to register that insult—he’s still thinking about pigs. Seungcheol’s just grateful the attention has shifted from him now.

“Thank you Wonwoo, you’ve been most helpful. I may seek your wisdom again in the future.” Seungcheol says graciously.

Wonwoo bows politely.

“Can you please turn your attention back to the matter at hand? The treaty needs your approval, and we have a schedule to stick to.” Jisoo huffs, waving the scroll that is Seungcheol’s schedule for the day.

Seungcheol sighs heavily, and crosses his arms. “About that—I won’t give it.”

Jisoo’s expression is horribly affronted, he clearly hadn't been expecting that. “Uh—why?”

“It doesn’t serve the kingdoms best interests, and frankly, I don’t trust them.”

 “For what reason?” Jisoo says slowly, as if he has a right to call Seungcheol out on every poor decision he's ever made. Which, to be fair, he does.

“Nothing in particular. I just have a bad feeling about him.” It's a simple answer, if not a good one, or a fair one. Seungcheol’s not really in the mood to elaborate right now.

He knew that other kingdoms had different rules, different enemies, different fears. Even his father was known to rule with an iron fist, and took immediate measures against his enemies. But in this kingdom, many miles to the west, the King did far worse things and earned his distrust. It didn’t help that the man burned through money with a passion that bordered on insanity, and was currently suffering from a massive power imbalance in his court.

Those are just a few very good reasons why Seungcheol's not happy at all about confirming a treaty with them. Why he couldn’t wait to leave the kingdom’s borders when their visit ended.

Jisoo doesn't seem swayed by his logic. Jisoo, in fact, is staring at him, startled and a little bit aghast. “Did you consult anyone on your decision? Or do you intend to rule without counsel?”

“I did consult actually. Larry agrees with me.” Seungcheol can't help adding, keeping his face entirely straight as he gestures to the tank at the far side of the room where Larry is observing them with his beady eyes.

Jisoo looks annoyed at the suggestion, when in fact Seungcheol had overheard him speaking to Larry this morning.

“ _Larry_ doesn’t speak.” Jisoo snipes.

Seungcheol’s still amazed how Jisoo can make his pet lobster’s name sound like some sort of horrible _plague_.

“Still jealous huh? You just don’t understand Larry like I do. Larry is wise beyond his years.” Seungcheol says, shaking his head. “Isn’t that right Larry?”

Larry doesn’t say anything, probably because he’s a lobster. But Seungcheol pretends he did anyway.

There is a quiet knock on the door then, and the guard at the entrance of the room enters, “Your highness, the court Jeweller has arrived as per your request.” He says, and makes a sweeping bow.

Seungcheol lifts a hand, “Send him in.”

The court jeweller appears in the doorway next, with a box in hand and the forced smile of someone desperately hoping they can finally marry off their awkward, eldest child. 

“Your majesty, my job is complete.” He says with a grand bow. “I thought you might wish to inspect the finished piece.”

“Yes, bring it here.” Seungcheol waves him over, clearing the table for the small chest to sit.

“I think you’ll be pleased your highness, It’s the finest piece I’ve worked on.” The Jeweller says, eyes respectfully dropping. “Your design was— _conventional_ , to say the least, but the final piece is breath-taking. You have an eye for beauty.” He adds, placing the chest in front of Seungcheol and opening it, bowing again before standing aside.

“I have a very beautiful muse.” Seungcheol murmurs distractedly as he stares down at the necklace.

 _Unique_ , that was the word Seungcheol had used to describe the piece he wanted commissioned for his Merboy, and the final product is certainly deserving of the word.

The necklace could be more aptly described as a body chain. Literally, as it turns out when Seungcheol needs to lift it with both hands to inspect the craftsmanship.

He’d privately agonized over what to present as a courtship gift for Jihoon, and settled for a design of his own creation. After watching, studying, ogling and _dreaming_ about him, Seungcheol made a few rough sketches and consulted the jeweller on his ideas.

Seungcheol explained he needed a fine piece that would not tarnish, something light weight and flexible.

At first, the jeweller had stared at him as if he was mad when Seungcheol insisted upon smaller stones and crystals, but more of them. A lot more of them.

Seungcheol realised his modesty was suspicious to a man accustomed to designing heavier and more ornate pieces, but Jihoon's neck wasn't built to support much gold, and until then, Seungcheol had never realised how fucking heavy emeralds were, never had cause to lift one.

“You had jewellery commissioned?” Jisoo butts in, leaning forward, clearly intrigued to see what is inside the box.

Seungcheol quickly puts the necklace back and shuts it. “Has anyone else seen it?” He asks the jeweller.

“No, your highness. as you requested—only myself and my assistant worked on the piece.”

“Good. It’s perfect.” Seungcheol grins.

“You didn’t tell me you were having a piece made.” Jisoo says, letting a disapproving eye roam over Seungcheol.  “Don’t you think you have enough?”

“It’s not for me you idiot. It’s a gift.” Seungcheol is quick to point out, and Jisoo gasps. It hadn't occurred to Seungcheol before that there may have been a little bit of oddness in that.

“A gift? For whom? Have you selected a suitor?” Jisoo’s voice holds a happy note of approval in it that Seungcheol choses to ignore.

Seungcheol squares his shoulders. “Hmm—let’s just say, It’s for a friend I cherish _deeply_.”  

Jisoo doesn't look happy about the idea in the slightest, then his expression softens, and he looks suddenly overcome with emotion.

“Oh, my word, is it _me_?” Jisoo gasps, putting a hand to his mouth. “For my many years of faithful service to the crown? _Seungcheol_ , you shouldn’t have.”

Seungcheol levels that hard, serious look in Jisoo's direction and sighs. “Good. Because I didn’t. It’s not for you.”

Jisoo glares at him, in a way that says clearly enough he'd quite like to smack him. “It better not be for that lobster! That’s the final straw!”

* * *

 

As Seungcheol walks towards the pier that evening, the waves lap gently against his boots in the darkness, familiar and strangely reassuring.

There's normalcy in this, for all that there should be nothing  _normal_  about nocturnal rendezvous with Merboys. But as Seungcheol hops across the broken planks of the pier, he feels more like himself than he has in the last four days.

Jihoon’s already waiting for him. Seungcheol can see his Merboy outlined there against the moonlit, cloudless sky, leaning over the edge of the pier. He has his back to the beach, humming a soft tune under his breath, lazily lifting his tail to sway in time with his words.

He’s so foolishly unaware of Seungcheol’s approach—or anyone else for that matter, and even though most of his tail is curling down and out of view—it’s still risky to be so distracted.

Seungcheol almost yells out to berate him, but he’s suddenly immobilised by the sound of Jihoon’s singing.

Seungcheol’s already intimately familiar with the pull of Jihoon’s body, but his singing is unlike anything he had thought possible.

It’s beautiful, light and enchanting; crooning a melody in a language he’s never heard before that seems to wrap around him and draw him closer, like the very roll of the tide itself as it moves back out to sea. 

It’s almost like Seungcheol has no control over himself anymore, his body stumbling along, reeled in by Jihoon’s soft sweet words of promise.  

He would have tumbled off the pier had it not been for the old, rotting wood creaking under his heavy boots and startling Jihoon into silence,

Jihoon’s singing cuts out, and he whips his head around to gaze at him; the Merboy’s bright grey eyes seem to pierce right through Seungcheol’s skull. 

“Seungcheol! You’re back!” Jihoon says, happy little squeaking sounds escaping him as he looks up at Seungcheol towering over him.

Seungcheol is still dazed, and his steps falter. He recovers hopefully faster than Jihoon will catch, but the lapse still happens.

“Uhh—yes.” Seungcheol shakes his head to clear it, surprised at the low clench of curious fascination, of shaken desire he feels. Though he shouldn't be surprised. Jihoon has always managed to leave him stupid with desire, no matter what he’s doing.

Jihoon pats the space next to him, “Come, sit. Tell me, how was your visit?”

Seungcheol smiles, and drops down next to him.

“It was awful. Boring. Useless. I—I _missed_ you.” Seungcheol says, and he doesn’t try to sound casual because he knows it’d be pointless.

Even though Jihoon doesn’t say it back, Seungcheol knows he missed him too because the Merboy edges closer and presses tight. He tilts his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder and rests a hand on his knee. “I’m really glad you’re back.”

“Must have been difficult for you—not having anyone to throw fish at.” Seungcheol says fondly, and Jihoon lifts his head to give him a small smile – quiet and a little indulgent.

“Will you—swim with me tonight?” Jihoon asks hesitantly.

“If you like. But, I have something to show you first.” Seungcheol says, setting the box on his lap. “I have a gift for you.”

“Strawberries?” Jihoon asks with such adorable hopefulness Seungcheol wishes he could magic the necklace into strawberries.

“No, sorry—but I’ll bring you more next time. Although, I think you might like this more than Strawberries.”

Jihoon’s brow furrows as confusion blooms bright on his face.

“Close your eyes.” Seungcheol orders and Jihoon does, so easily, as though his trust in Seungcheol is obvious.

Seungcheol kneels down in front of the Merboy –opening the small wooden chest. He lifts the necklace out of its cushioning and lowers the fall of gems over Jihoon’s neck, reaching around to fasten the clasp.

Sitting back, he minutely adjusts the piece over Jihoon’s shoulders, letting the delicate metal embroidery trickle through his fingers.

It suits Jihoon perfectly, just as he’d envisioned. Delicate threads of white gold, blue crystals and emeralds trailing over pale skin in a way that's soundless and beautiful, almost like magic.

Seungcheol allows himself a final appreciative glance, before speaking, “You can open your eyes now.”

Jihoon, who’s been silent and passive through the whole thing, releases a trembling breath as his eyes flutter open.

He tries to look at his own throat and fails, but he traces his fingertips delicately over the bejewelled lattice design.

He leans over the edge of the pier to stare at his reflection in the water. His face goes slack and rather pale, then red in quick succession. He doesn’t say anything, and after a moment Seungcheol is compelled to ask, “Do you like it? I—had it made especially for you.”

Jihoon looks at him sidelong, and he smiles slightly, and he ducks his head and when he lifts it again and nods, he’s really smiling, dimples and all. He’s so beautiful Seungcheol sort of can’t believe he’s settled for present company.

When Jihoon finally gets his voice working again, it’s very quiet. “Do—I look nice?”

“No.” Seungcheol huffs, affronted on Jihoon’s behalf at such a simple term. “You look _beautiful_.”

“Thank you, _Seungcheol_.” Jihoon murmurs his name, slow and silky in a way Seungcheol's never heard it before.

Seungcheol watches the play of moonlight across Jihoon's features, vision blurring he forgets to blink for so long. Slowly, he lifts a hand and presses his palm over the necklace, over Jihoon's heart and finds it beating too fast, feels the rise and fall of breath in Jihoon's chest. Beautifully alive.

“It’s just a necklace that will probably be lost or break someday. Remember that it’s really nothing compared to you.”

Jihoon squeaks and blushes at that, a lovely scarlet spreading all the way to the tips of his ears, and it’s possibly the most endearing thing Seungcheol has ever seen.

Feeling braver, Seungcheol pulls Jihoon closer, settling a hand around his back and resting his chin atop the Merboy’s head.

Vaguely, Seungcheol is aware of the sound of Jihoon’s breath slowing and easing. He’s aware of Jihoon’s hand drifting down, to rest over his chest, seemingly not out of fear but rather a simple, steadying act of reciprocity. One that nonetheless sets Seungcheol’s heartrate quickening like he’s an inexperienced teenager with a crush.

They don’t say anything after that. For what can’t be more than a few minutes but seems quite a bit longer, they sit there like that, with Jihoon’s head resting on Seungcheol’s shoulder and Seungcheol’s arm draped around his back.

He could be doing anything right now; resting, feasting, entertaining nobility, but he much prefers it out here, Jihoon cradled easily in the crook of his arm– with nothing but the distant, hushed sound of the surf. The sky is a wash of black to violet to cobalt, stretched dizzyingly wide and punctured with a million points of flickering light.

* * *

 

It’s getting to be properly dark when they start to wade into the water. Seungcheol has picked an easy entry: a nice, smooth, sandy slope in a relatively sheltered area.

The night is almost eerily calm; there are no whitecaps and the water is like a sheet of gently rippling glass stretching away to the glow on the horizon. Seungcheol pauses when the water is at his waist, turning to watch Jihoon, who in turn is watching the surface of the water. Staring at the necklace around his neck in silent awe.

“Come here,” Seungcheol says, and he holds out a hand. Jihoon stares at it for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, then reaches out and takes it.

Jihoon pulls Seungcheol along gently, floating backwards so their gazes remain locked.

Seungcheol doesn’t _need_ to look into Jihoon’s eyes to know the merboy’s happier than he’s been all day. Happy because he has Seungcheol with him. He’s showing off, almost like a lover tempting their mate out onto the dance floor with a sensual sway of his hips.

The tide is low tonight, and the entrance to the cave is not submerged as it was before. Seungcheol is grateful for it, because once they swim through the dark mouth of the cave he is able to witness Jihoon—changing.  

In the odd bluish light of the cave, he _bursts_ to life, his tail shimmering dark blues and indigos, reflecting off the glowing crystals embedded in the cave wall that were not visible during the day.

Transfixed, Seungcheol’s leg stroke falters and he gasps.

“What’s wrong?” Jihoon asks, stopping his effortless glide backwards.

Seungcheol doesn’t know where to begin answering that, there’s just so much to take in.

Jihoon’s eyes are a startling shade of blue, alight on his cheeks and shoulders and the bridge of his nose in little bioluminescent dots, freckles of a sort, glinting prettily in the darkness of the cave.

Seungcheol notices gold tracing on Jihoon’s skin, filigree patterns that thread around his upper arms and under his clavicles, up his neck. They weren’t there before, Seungcheol’s sure of it.

“You’re _glowing_.” Seungcheol’s voice doesn't crack, though it does waver a little.

“Oh—those are just my marks.” Jihoon murmurs, ducking his head bashfully. His freckles seem to shine in the shadows of the cave, something that makes Seungcheol’s breath catch. But everything about Jihoon does that.

Seungcheol can't resist touching. He can't help but reach up to lay his hand against the strange, glowing hue of Jihoon’s cheeks. The colour follows his hand, spreading out from his fingers like he's chasing it. It twists and stretches under Seungcheol’s touch, turning into that delicate gold pattern under his palms. It reaches Jihoon’s throat in a wave, then keeps going.

He follows it down Jihoon’s throat, over the curves of his ribs, the long, slender lines of his arms, nipples going stiff under the slow touch. He finds that he likes the way gold flares over the hard curves of Jihoon’s hips, the fine, smooth skin of his stomach.

There's a shiver under the skin, everywhere Seungcheol touches, muscles pulling in, and twitching under the press of his fingers. Jihoon’s face may lie with ease, but his skin defies all attempts at subterfuge.

“They’re beautiful.” Seungcheol whispers breathlessly.

Jihoon’s eyes turn bluer and he blushes, the new darkness of skin better framing his iridescent freckles. His tail twitches, perhaps nervously.

“Nobody ever says that. They’re just marks. They guide me through the darker parts of the water.”

Seungcheol’s brow creases. “Really? Wouldn’t that—attract predators?”

Jihoon tilts his head from side to side in reluctant agreement. “I _guess_. We usually stay in our caves at night and sleep.”

Seungcheol frowns in disapproval. “So, agreeing to come out and meet me tonight was a stupid and dangerous idea? You should have said so Jihoon.”

Blue eyes lift to meet his own, before narrowing ever so slightly, at whatever shows in Seungcheol's expression.

“I can take care of myself.” Jihoon says haughtily.

“That’s not the point.” Seungcheol snaps. “Don’t take the risk in the first place. I won’t rest, won’t be able to _sleep_ —thinking of you swimming out there alone in the dark, maybe a shark on your tail.”

“I’m faster than a shark.” Jihoon presents the illusion of steady confidence. Seungcheol isn't fooled; Jihoon's eyes are far too expressive.

“Maybe so. It doesn’t lessen my worry for you.” Seungcheol huffs and Jihoon sighs, as if Seungcheol is the most infuriating creature in the _universe_.

Suddenly, Seungcheol is sharply aware of Jihoon’s hand coming up to stroke his jaw, skin touching underwater in a way that doesn't feel accidental at all.

They’re very close, closer than they’d ever sit normally, and Jihoon could drift away with the barest push from a couple of fingers, but he hasn’t. Instead his one hand wraps around the back of Seungcheol’s neck.

“Why do you say these things?” Jihoon murmurs, “Make me feel so special when nobody else does. It’s unfair.”

Seungcheol licks his lips, trying to pick the best option out of the thousand things he could say to Jihoon in this moment, and then suddenly Jihoon presses his body against his in one movement. There are wet hands in his hair and on the side of his face, and then he has a Merboy _kissing_ him.

He's not prepared in the slightest, mouth stunned and half open, hands fluttering stupidly in the water.

Jihoon doesn’t kiss like Seungcheol imagined that he would – and Seungcheol has imagined it often. Seungcheol thought he would be pointed, demanding, that he’d have the same exacting expectations in a kiss as he does on everything else.

But Jihoon kisses him, and it’s not like that at all; rather, he’s soft and tentative. He kisses Seungcheol carefully, letting him have just a brief taste of tongue before drawing Seungcheol’s lower lip into his mouth and sucking gently. His breath is hot and measured and he tastes delightfully sweet, and Seungcheol thinks he might be _dying_.

And then Jihoon's drifting away, pulling back.

"I thought that might shut you up." he smirks.

Seungcheol's still staring at Jihoon's mouth. Trying to work out exactly what just happened.

Jihoon tilts his head and it's an entirely new expression when they’re both wet and naked. Flirtatious and inviting and Seungcheol finds himself closing in on the Merboy on instinct.

Just because he wants to. Jihoon started this and he has no intention of letting it stop.

He wants to slide in tight and press every inch of his own body against Jihoon's, then bite him, so he can't go anywhere. So, yeah, weird, but somehow ok.

Jihoon floats backwards until he his back hits the cave wall, an unmistakable challenge in the glow of his eyes even as Seungcheol closes in and brackets him against it.

“Jihoon.” Seungcheol breathes, one hand sliding down the back of Jihoon’s tail as they come nose to nose.

Jihoon's expression is suddenly intent, like he's watching everything, waiting with a curious air of expectation.

Seungcheol doesn't pull away, something in him, some part of him, is always waiting for Jihoon, always waiting for a cue. It occurs to him suddenly that perhaps Jihoon is waiting for the same from him.

He lifts his hands and pushes them into Jihoon's wet hair, finds the half-curls warm underneath. Jihoon moves his head obediently and he's already parting his lips when Seungcheol slams their mouths together, sealing them into a bruising kiss, and Jihoon, gasping in surprise, melts in his arms.

The arm behind Jihoon’s back wraps in tighter, pulling Jihoon closer, and Seungcheol runs his tongue along Jihoon’s lips, delighted when they open—he dives in, tasting the vanilla-like caverns of the Merboy’s mouth, sweet and soft and warm and wet.

Seungcheol sucks on Jihoon’s tongue and runs his teeth over Jihoon’s, then tilts his head to deepen the kiss, swallowing the beautiful whimpering noises Jihoon makes.

When it ends, and Seungcheol pulls back, they simply look at one another, equally breathless and surprised.

Seungcheol opens his mouth to apologize, even though he has no regrets, and instead, Jihoon grabs his biceps. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Kissing?” Seungcheol questions.

“What’s kissing?” Jihoon asks. Voice soft and curious.            

Seungcheol eyeballs him. _“What we just did.”_

“Ohhhh.” Jihoon giggles. “We call it something different.”

“What?”

 _“Tongue dancing.”_ He purrs.

Seungcheol snorts. “Always so literal Jihoonie.”

Jihoon scowls for a second, before tugging him closer. “Shut up and tongue dance me again.”

Seungcheol makes a short, broken noise and obeys. It takes just a few seconds to become a fierce, open-mouthed kiss, and Jihoon meets it, takes it, pulls Seungcheol into him until he understands that Jihoon wants exactly what he's holding back.

Kissing Jihoon is really good— _awesome_ even. It’s really hard to stop doing especially when Jihoon is trailing wet hands through his hair, over and over and trying to wrestle Seungcheol’s tongue with his own.

Tongue dancing? More like…tongue jujitsu.

Seungcheol would gladly keep this up forever, if he didn’t have to _breathe_. Jihoon seems to be forgetting that, unlike himself, Seungcheol only _has_ one pair of lungs and he kind of needs to fill them with oxygen _occasionally_.

Every time Seungcheol attempts to pull away, the Merboy mewls in loss and reels him back in.

Something in Seungcheol doesn’t want to discourage him by stopping outright. It can't say no. The enormity of this whole thing, the way Jihoon is pulling on his forearms, enthusiastic in a way that feels surprised and human.

He excepts that suffocating will be equally discouraging, so he manages to break the kiss, fill his lungs with air _and_ keep Jihoon happy by pressing little open-mouthed kisses along his neck.

Jihoon tilts his head, sucking a mark into the skin of Seungcheol’s jaw, sliding one hand into Seungcheol’s hair and encouraging him wordlessly.

“I’ve never done this with anyone before. Not even my own kind.” Jihoon pants.

Seungcheol grins against the pale throat— _That explains the tongue jujitsu._

The end of Jihoon’s tail keeps curling up and flickering over the skin of Seungcheol’s legs in a way that seems intent on trying to twine them together, and seems frustrated to find that they're not the same species.

Jihoon’s skin is impossibly warm under the enveloping rush of cold water and Seungcheol’s hands roam over Jihoon’s body curiously, fingertips sliding against his scales - then drifting back up to trail through the sensitive edges of his gills until Jihoon is whimpering into his mouth.

Seungcheol's not sure whether it’s from pleasure, or if he's actually drowning because Seungcheol is suffocating him by touching them.

But then Jihoon makes a soft noise, that sounds like satisfaction when Seungcheol pushes in and under right at the lowest point of his waist and he isn't sure either of them are going to be content with just kissing anymore.

Especially when Jihoon tip his head back against the rock wall and moans.

Seungcheol’s fingers are still drifting lazily at the strangely sensitive strip where skin becomes scales and in a nervous habit, Seungcheol licks his lips and asks “Should I…”

“Please don’t stop.” Jihoon whispers in answer before he finishes.

Seungcheol huffs a laugh.

The blue of Jihoon’s eyes is still impossible and his eyelashes are wet. Seungcheol can’t look away, has to tip their foreheads together just to breathe.

“Jihoon, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never been intimate with a fish before.” Seungcheol says, and he feels stupid even as he says it, but he’s too stunned and too flustered to come up with anything to say but the embarrassing truth.

“Just—touch me there. It feels good. _Really_ good.”

Seungcheol thinks they should wait—till he has a better understanding of what he’s doing. He doesn’t want to hurt Jihoon, but Jihoon is guiding his hand back to his waist and Seungcheol can’t deny him. He knows what shaky, greedy desperate need feels like when someone's touching you where you _need_ to be touched. Or maybe where you probably shouldn't be touched.

Carefully, Seungcheol slides his fingers in and out of the thin slit, while Jihoon grunts words into his neck which may very well be something close to 'yes, fuck, please.'

He doesn't even know what's happening but Jihoon's still moaning and kissing his neck, so he figures he's just going to run with it.

Seungcheol’s so enraptured with the Merboy’s response, he belatedly realises his cock is aching with much needed attention. He gets his hand down between them, crushed between the slippery foreign touch of Jihoon’s scales and the warmth of his skin. He curls his fingers round his own cock and pulls, because someone should be able to get off the easy way here.

But then Jihoon is making a clicking noise of protest and shoving him away. The Merboy spirals in the water, turning his back to Seungcheol.

Seungcheol blinks in shock. “What? I just wanted to--”

The rest of the sentence is stolen from him, when Jihoon's fingers catch his wrist and hold his hand underwater.

“Here.” Jihoon says, guiding it down the back of his tail, skidding over the dip in his back and lower.

There's a frown in the middle of Jihoon's forehead, troubled and uncertain. But the way he's watching Seungcheol over his shoulder is wanton, hungry. His fingers are loose enough that Seungcheol could slip out of them, if he wanted to.

But Seungcheol lets him, gives him his hand for...whatever.

For -

He can feel his knuckles sliding against Jihoon's scales underwater, beneath a feathery fin where the scales become softer, more pliable. Then Jihoon’s hand uncurls from his own, leaves it abandoned in the water, on his tail.

Seungcheol turns his wrist to stroke the area curiously with the flat if his palm, and finds a spot where a gathering of small scales opens under the touch of his fingers. There’s warmth and dampness where there was none before. Carefully, he sinks two fingers inside, which pushes a delightful little squeak out of Jihoon, and makes his thickening cock jerk in interest.

He freezes.

The implication of that, that Jihoon  _knows_  what he's doing.

"Is that a..?" Seungcheol's voice is so soft that for a second he's sure Jihoon hasn't heard him. "Jihoon? Is that a.."

Seungcheol wants to ask if that's what he wants. But he doesn't have to ask, because Jihoon just looks at him, from under his hair, and under his eyelashes, and says nothing at all. It makes Seungcheol’s cock throb.

He presses his fingers to the area again, slides them in a little deeper—and marvels at impossibly soft and slick heat.

Although the hole is extremely tight, it stretches under his gentle pressure, and Seungcheol lets out a little huff of excitement as he confirms that yes, with some persistence, Jihoon could accept his cock quite nicely.

Folding a hand around Jihoon’s hip, he pushes another finger into the slick heat, letting Jihoon buck against him as he stretches him open.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol says, voice hoarse. “Are you—”

“More.” The word is almost more an exhale of breath than speech.

The tip of Jihoon’s tail is curling and uncurling around Seungcheol’s legs, and Seungcheol continues to explore the tender inside of his slick hole. The Merboy practically whimpers as Seungcheol withdraws his fingers, then purrs heavily as Seungcheol lines the head of his cock with his entrance.

Seungcheol’s skin burns when the head of his cock brushes against the rim, overwhelming need building inside him until his hands shake.

“Jihoon—I’m going to..”

“Yes. Yes, do it. I want it.” Jihoon pants.

It’s a shock. All of it is a shock, from Jihoon eagerly anticipating his touch to the realization that he has a place for Seungcheol’s dick. But Seungcheol doesn’t have time to unpack all of it right now, and he doesn’t really want to. He just wants Jihoon, and for the first time it seems that he can have him like he wants to.

Seungcheol pushes the head of his cock in and is instantly completely fucking in love with the way the Jihoon sucks a breath and tenses like he's surprised by how  _good_  it is.

A breath in, and another breath out – it’s all Seungcheol tries to focus on instead of the incredible tight heat around his cock. He bites into his lip and slides deeper into Jihoon’s body, watching greedily as Jihoon arches and rocks back again, whimpering.

He isn’t sure what he’s done to deserve this, but whatever it was, he’d do it a thousand times over.

Jihoon shudders when Seungcheol bottoms out, lips parting around his laboured breath. Then Seungcheol grips the rock wall above him, knees bracketing the width of Jihoon’s tail as he attempts to find leverage in the fluidity of water.

The first few thrusts are a shallow affair, just lazy rolls of hips while Seungcheol allows the Merboy to adjust to the intrusion. Soon enough Jihoon is pushing back against him, using his own grip on the rocks to spear himself on Seungcheol’s length again and again.

Seungcheol groans and thrusts in roughly at one point, a quick helpless moment of broken restraint. He means— _intends_ to be gentle with the Merboy, and immediately chastises himself for his slip. But Jihoon squeaks excitedly in return, encourages Seungcheol to do it again and pushes back for more. All barely-there control and eagerness.

It's strange trying to do this underwater, distant and muted, but Jihoon’s breathing is a pretty good guide for exactly how hard and how fast he wants.

Seungcheol’s fingers are slithering in and out of Jihoon’s gills like they can't stop while his legs tighten to the point of pain round the shivering, thrashing weight of Jihoon’s tail.

Jihoon’s body is new like this, Seungcheol is pushed, in some strange way, to claim it as his own. But also to please it, to prove that it makes no difference how Jihoon comes, as long as he comes to him. Because, fuck, fish tail or not, this is sex, one unsteady slide after another.

Impossibly, _somehow_ , Jihoon tightens around him and Seungcheol feels the pressure building painfully behind his balls.

His eyes roll up into his head and flutter closed. He can distantly hear Jihoon whining, sound rising above Seungcheol’s own low, hungry moans and splash inducing thrusts. And when Jihoon tips his head back against Seungcheol’s shoulder, Seungcheol buries his teeth in his neck.

“Ahh— _Seungcheol_!”

It's one long shudder of pleasure that's nothing like he's ever felt before. Which ends in a thrash that throws water everywhere, and Jihoon’s left clinging to the rock face making a half-lost sort of whimpering sound, while everything goes blurry at the edges.

The sight of Jihoon in the throes of orgasmic pleasure are enough to sate Seungcheol, and he follows him over that edge.

“ _Fuck_.”

Seungcheol pulls out of Jihoon, just in time as not to…. _well_ …he’s not _sure_. Impregnate him? _Maybe_? _Egg Jelly?_

 _Anyway_ …..

Seungcheol cums in thick spurts all over the small of Jihoon’s back, each pulse as powerful as the last, until he can give no more and the upper part of Jihoon’s tail is coated in white.

He slumps forward, breathing into the curve of Jihoon’s neck, and the Merboy’s wet hair smells like fruit under his nose - there's no mark from where he had his teeth buried in Jihoon's skin, though Seungcheol's jaw aches enough to tell him how hard he'd bitten him.

He feels loose and heavy and ever so slightly dizzy, smiling as Jihoon’s tail slides lazily back and forth below where Seungcheol’s legs are still bracketing him. He's probably heavy, really heavy where he's crushing the Merboy into the side of the cave. Though he figures Jihoon is too fucked out to notice that.

Nevertheless, he pulls Jihoon into his arms and kicks off the rock face, floating backwards towards the shallower waters of the cave where he can sit easily with the Merboy cradled in his lap.

“You’re still glowing—does that deplete your energy?” Seungcheol murmurs after a moment. Because he feels like he should say something, something neutral, something to fill the space until he's ready for anything else. Or maybe just because he's afraid all his questions will be obvious and all the protests will sound ridiculous.

Jihoon seems to read his concern anyway, “Don’t worry Cheollie. You were gentle. I knew you would be.” He murmurs lazily, his body like melted wax in Seungcheol’s lap.

Seungcheol slides a warm palm down to the small of Jihoon's back. He manoeuvres Jihoon into his arms so Jihoon can rest his chin on his shoulder and Seungcheol can brush a kiss to his temple.

"Was that weird," Seungcheol asks quietly. Because he's in some strange place where he's not sure if he should be embarrassed or not. "I'm really hoping that wasn't weird."

Jihoon seems amused at 'weird' rather than insulted. So Seungcheol doesn't bother apologising for it. He's sure there are going to be a million other things he can apologise for later.

"It was a little weird," Jihoon giggles. “A good weird.”

Jihoon wraps his arms around the back of Seungcheol’s neck, kissing him like this is the only language he knows, the taste of salt and sea. Seungcheol kisses him back whole-heartedly as they float there together, in the cave which surrounds them. Their own private place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I know that was very long but I have a lot going on at work next week and didn't want to leave with blue balls.  
> 2) What...did you think of the smut? That was....hard to write.  
> 3) I plan on more smut. With legs.  
> 4) I love merboy Jihoon so much honestly, this has been a real treat to write even though it's different to my usual style of writing and word use.  
> 5) Thank you for reading and feedback appreciated :)


	5. Came dawn, my regret

“You don’t have to stay with me, I’ll be perfectly fine here on my own.” Jihoon murmurs.

He’s currently an untidy sprawl of limbs and tail, half on Seungcheol where he’s resting against the sloped cave wall, and half in the water. Seungcheol rearranges the Merboy to his liking with a few judicious pushes, and tucks him close against his side for warmth.

“I don’t know, Jihoon—you seem to be _awfully_ fond of putting yourself in danger. A boat might sail past and knowing you, you’ll probably swim over and jump on to it and greet the sailors with gifts of trout.”

“I would _not_.” Jihoon lets out a scoff, and relaxes again, tracing a soft pattern with his fingertips along Seungcheol’s strong shoulder blade. “There are no fish swimming nearby at the moment. I would gift them a pretty shell instead.”

Seungcheol frowns. “Oh well—now I’m _definitely_ not leaving.”

“But you’ll be tired when you return home. The sun will rise shortly, and I promise I will only return to the reef when it’s safe.”

“Jihoon—I’m _staying_.” Seungcheol clarifies, his growing irritation overtaking his post-sex lassitude. He brushes his fingertips down Jihoon’s spine and dips down to kiss his temple, “So, just make yourself comfortable and try and get some sleep.”

Jihoon huffs quietly against his chest, but Seungcheol is unsurprised to find that Jihoon’s expression has turned slyly pleased when he met his eyes again.

A quiet moment passes before Jihoon breaks the silence. “I have never shown myself to anyone else before, you know. No other human.”

“Then why me?” Seungcheol whispers.

He can hear the click in Jihoon's throat as he swallows. "I don't—I don't know," Jihoon whispers back. “You seemed interesting.”

Seungcheol smiles in the darkness. “Well—I’m glad you did. But nobody else, understood? Not everyone will be as— _accepting_.”

Jihoon nods agreement and tucks himself snugly along Seungcheol's side, his head laid on Seungcheol's shoulder.

They drift off to sleep like that, anchored to each other. The sea is warm like blood and it laps slowly around them, keeping time to the rhythm of their heartbeat. There's nothing to disturb them. There's no noise or people, just water and air and the press of their bodies, intimately together.

* * *

 

When the first rays of sunshine peak over the horizon, they leave the cave and swim back to the beach.

Just before Seungcheol climbs out of the water, Jihoon turns to him with big, questioning eyes. A little uncertain.

“I know I kept you out all night, but will you return soon?” he murmurs.

Seungcheol doesn't hesitate. His hands frame Jihoon's face, careful but commanding, and he claims a kiss, different in every possible way from the first. Gentle and reassuring.

“Yes. Of course. I have some business to attend to tonight, but I’ll meet you here tomorrow, just before sunset.” Seungcheol says softly, his lips brushing Jihoon's as he speaks.

* * *

 

When Seungcheol enters his private wing of the palace at dawn, he is startled by Jisoo's presence, though he has control enough not to show it.

“Your _highness_.” Jisoo says, voice an imitation of surprise.

Jisoo is pretending, poorly, that he did not expect to find Seungcheol creeping back into the palace. They both know otherwise, but Seungcheol appreciates the pretence. Surprise implies that he has not sought him out—that he is not _worried_ —when his eyes plainly tell a different story.

He looks...he looks cross in a way which isn't really cross at all. No, it's definitely the pretend-cross that he wears like some sort of cloak he's become over fond of. It's not really working for Jisoo today.

“You don’t look like you’ve slept _at all_ last night. You look wretched.” Jisoo points out.

“Oh? Perhaps it’s because I’m greeted with _your_ face so early in the morning.” Seungcheol drawls.

Jisoo offers an indulging smile that Seungcheol does not acknowledge as he stalks past.

He follows a pace behind Seungcheol until they’re at the door to his chambers, and then hurries to Seungcheol’s side as the heavy door swings shut behind them

“Or perhaps it’s because you in fact did not return to your chambers yesterday. The valet informed me of your absence.”

Seungcheol sighs heavily. “Yes. I slept elsewhere.”

“Where exactly?” Jisoo sounds more concerned now.

Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose with tense fingers. He’s spent the entire night floating waist deep in water and partaking in very strenuous, if enjoyable activities. He’s too tired for an interrogation and feels as if he is getting a headache. A large Jisoo shaped headache.

“The library.” Seungcheol answers a shade too late. 

“Liar.” Jisoo parries quickly.

“I am not—” Seungcheol snaps. But Jisoo is watching him with a bemused expression, almost a smile, and Seungcheol's denials die on his tongue. “If you _know_ where I was, why are you bothering me?”

Jisoo makes a face that suggests, simultaneously, that Seungcheol is an extreme idiot and that Jisoo's trials in life are very great, indeed.

“Because I am _annoyed_ with you Seungcheol. Once I realised you were missing, naturally I had the guards roaming the entire palace grounds in search of you. You were not in the library, or the gardens. They even searched the forest for you, but you were nowhere to be found. I thought you’d been kidnapped. I almost informed your parents, I was so worried.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “That would have been foolish, because as you can plainly see—I’m perfectly safe.”

“And covered in sand.” Jisoo gestures.

Seungcheol looks blankly down at his damp and sandy clothing. He attempts to look dumb, which is rather shockingly unsuccessful.

“Yes. It appears I am.” he mutters eventually, tamping down his frustration with conscious effort. He moves to the dining table already laden with breakfast platters and drops into a nearby chair.

Jisoo considers him for a moment, long enough to let Seungcheol pour himself a glass of wine and drain the goblet before setting it down.

“Did you spend the night by the beach you are so lately fond of?” Jisoo asks. It doesn’t sound like a question, but Seungcheol obliges him anyway.

“Yes.”

“And you spent the entire night out there?” Jisoo says with a fair amount of scepticism.

“Correct.” Seungcheol replies testily, the wine doing nothing to ease his tension. His stomach growls, reminding him that he  _is_ , in fact, famished, having skipped dinner yesterday to go meet with Jihoon.

He turns his attention to the heavily laden dishes set out on the table, and helps himself to some of the roasted fowl. He manages a few bites before Jisoo interrupts him again.

“And what _were_ you doing?”

“Building sandcastles.” Seungcheol finishes around the edge of a smile, because it was the best excuse he could think of, even if it did sound totally ridiculous.

Judging by Jisoo's expression it wasn't all that _amusing_ either.

“Seungcheol,” Jisoo says, with the air of the very put-upon, “I would appreciate it if you treated this matter as urgently as I have.”

Seungcheol stands, and his legs tremble with belated fatigue as he walks towards the bed. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d shut up—so I can get some sleep. Draw those curtains would you.” He orders, sitting down on the edge of the bed to untie his laces.

“You can’t sleep.” Jisoo gasps, flinging the curtains open to brighten the room unhelpfully. “You have a very busy schedule ahead of you. There are delegates to meet, that fishing law you were so _insistent_ upon has to be finalised, and you requested a consultation with the visiting swordmaster. Oh and--”

Jisoo pauses, turning back to look at him, only now there's half a smirk on his face. Something amused and imperious. The day never ends well when Jisoo wears that expression. “And _most_ pressing—your father demands an audience with you this morning.”

Seungcheol gives up trying to untie his boots and flops onto his back on the bed. “Why? What does he want to see me for?”

“He did not indulge me with a reason, and I was not in a position to ask.” Jisoo retorts far too brightly, smile manic in the glaring sunlight.

Seungcheol's jaw clenches, but he nods.

* * *

 

Jeonghan is pacing in front of Jihoon’s cave when he returns.

He seems not the least bit surprised to see Jihoon approach, but the troubled expression falls smoothly from his face to be replaced by a different look entirely. Narrowed eyes, furrowed brow, lips pressed into a thin line.

Jihoon swims towards him slowly, wary apology in his posture. He spends far too much of his time worrying Jeonghan as it is, he hardly needs to give the merman  _more_  causes for concern.

“Well, well, well. Look what the tide swept in.” Jeonghan drawls, crossing his arms as Jihoon stops in front of him. “At sunrise no less. I suppose you were out gallivanting all night Jihoon? _Hmm_?”

Jihoon gives an expansive shrug of helplessness. “I lost track of time, and it was too dark to swim home. I found a safe cave by the shore to spend the night.”

“Oh, how _convenient_ for you. A magical cave by the shore. Always ready with an excuse Jihoon. What are….” Jeonghan pauses, giving him the strangest look. Then glides closer to Jihoon, the barest degree, tilting his head to look him directly in the eye.

“What is _that_ around your _neck_?” Jeonghan says urgently, his eyes wild.

Jihoon freezes, hand impulsively reaching up to touch his chest and brushing against the lattice of jewels there. 

He almost forgot about the necklace.

“Uh—a t-trinket. I f-found it.” Jihoon says, his voice actually cracking.

“ _Jihoon_.” Jeonghan admonishes him, tilting his chin down and raising his eyes in pointed scepticism “That necklace is new, I can tell. It’s undamaged, unstained and it appears to have been made specifically to sit around your neck. Do not lie to me.”

Jihoon has no intention of voicing the truth aloud. Not even to Jeonghan. 

 _Especially_  not to Jeonghan, he thinks with a subdued twist of guilt. But he can think of nothing else to say—nothing that will reassure Jeonghan and fill the uncomfortable silence—and so he says nothing.

Jeonghan's gaze remains sharp as minutes stretch uncomfortably. But at last he shakes his head, releasing Jihoon from the overwhelming weight of his gaze

“Fine. Be like that.” Jeonghan says at last, huffing dramatically and turning away.

He casts one final, lingering glance over his shoulder, and then swims off.

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol is all but vibrating with unhappy energy by the time he reaches the King’s study and his waiting father.

He schools his expression into something less wrathful as a guard opens the door for him. His countenance of thunderclouds has already terrified a kitchen maid, a stable boy and the page who helped Seungcheol into his fresh clothes. It will hardly do to broadcast his discontent to the whole of the realm.

“Father,” Seungcheol greets with a bow, “You wished to see me?”

His father drops the scroll he is studying and ushers Seungcheol forward with a wave of his hand.

“Seungcheol, yes. Come—sit with me.”

Seungcheol takes a seat, clasping his hands together and leaning forward to brace his elbows atop his knees.

“Is this about the treaty? I gave you my reasons for refusing father.” He asks, because he would rather have this over with, whatever it is.

“No, no.” His father waves him off. “You are perfectly capable of making wise decisions when it comes to the safety of our nation, I don’t doubt that for a minute.” His expression changes suddenly, tightens, brow furrowing. “I _do_ however, doubt your ability to make wise decisions pertaining to _yourself_.”

Seungcheol blinks in confusion. “Did Jisoo tell you about the late-night sandcastle building? Because I can explain that.”

“What?” His father croaks, then shakes his head. “No. I speak of your lazy approach in selecting a mate.”

Seungcheol sighs and unclasps his hands, scrubs his fingers roughly through his hair in a gesture of unpolished impatience. “Must we speak of this now?”

“Yes, we must.”  His father echoes, sharp and incredulous. “You’re nearly twenty-six years old, Seungcheol. You’ve had plenty of time to explore your choices, but I have yet to hear your thoughts. Have you considered the Duke’s daughter? The Earl? The Baron? _Do we need to throw another ball?”_

“Oh, god—no.” Seungcheol slouches back against the chair, an undignified and not exactly princely posture. “No more balls. I beg you.”

A grin catches the corners of the King’s mouth. He leans back in his chair, and studies Seungcheol curiously. “Then you _have_ come to a decision?”

Seungcheol pauses and gathers himself.

He wanted more time to think about this, but he can’t think of a way to delay this conversation further. He pictures Jihoon at his side and feels a shiver of desire go through him that is several layers thicker than simple lust.

If anything in those scriptures is true, about Mermen taking on a human form—surely he as Crown Prince could find the resources to make it happen. And if not—now that Seungcheol has had him, he doesn’t want anyone else. His heart would not allow it.

Seungcheol feels his shoulders tense in anticipation as he drops his voice low and says, “Yes. I have.”

“You’ve _found_ somebody?” The king asks, lighter now.

He’s trying to draw him out with kindness but careful not to say anything too direct. It's good of him to leave Seungcheol room to manoeuvre and dodge and deny without having to find difficult words. If he had come at him more directly, perhaps Seungcheol would have evaded the question. As it is he considers the merits of silence, and realizes he has no reason to hold his tongue.

“Yes, I have. He’s _perfect_.”

The King sags with something that could be relief—Seungcheol decides it's relief—and regards Seungcheol a look that is baldly assessing.

“Then tell me—who is it? I must meet him at once!”

Seungcheol drops his gaze and for a long moment does not meet the King’s eyes, “That’s going to be rather difficult. He’s—”

_A fucking Merboy._

_Lives in the ocean._

_Doesn’t have legs._

_Might throw a fish at you._

“Very _shy_.” Seungcheol settles on.

His father is quiet for long moments—absorbing Seungcheol's words, or perhaps simply waiting to see if Seungcheol has more to say.

“But they _have_ accepted your courtship?” He at last asks, voice neutral and almost alarmingly cautious.

Seungcheol chuckles and dips his head. “Yeah, you could say that.” Jihoon has admitted to his inexperience with everything they’d done. Seungcheol can’t imagine him letting just anyone touch him like that.

When he raises his eyes, he finds the King peering at him with a sombre, piercing expression. 

“We’ve been—uhm— _intimate_ with each other.” He says when he realizes his father is waiting patiently for more information.

The King’s eyebrow arches sharply. “I thought you said he was _shy_?”

Seungcheol grins. “He is—but surprisingly eager about sex.”

And kissing.

And touching.

And fondling.

Oh, and putting things in his mouth. _Several times._

And shy is the absolute _worst_ word to describe Jihoon, now that Seungcheol thinks about it.

The King’s expression has shifted again, from assessment to reluctant concern. His right eyebrow arches higher than usual, and Seungcheol is familiar with that look. It signals admonishments yet unspoken, some rebuke his father is reluctant to deliver but knows he must.

“You must know by now Seungcheol, that intimacy before your marriage ceremony is frowned upon.”

“Yes, I’m sure you abstained from sex while you were courting mother,” Seungcheol shrugs eloquently and pretends to match his father's serious expression. “What with that _Harem_ you had. I’m sure you didn’t have any intimate dealings outside of your engagement. You must have just looked _wistfully_ at your concubines from afar.”

His father very obviously doesn’t comment on that. He doesn’t exactly smile, but reluctant fondness warms beneath his otherwise steely expression. “I’ll be patient for now, but we’ll need to meet him eventually.”

Seungcheol nods. “Yes, of course. I’ll speak with him. Will that be all?”

The King sighs and tips his head back, in his imperial 'I'm thinking' gesture and Seungcheol grins at it where his father can't see.

“Yes. This is very pleasing news Seungcheol. You’ve picked somebody, and your mother and I can rest easy knowing the future of the Kingdom is secured. In fact—” He brightens, clapping his hands together. “We should throw a ball to celebrate.”  

“No, father please!” Seungcheol protests loudly.

* * *

 

Seungcheol is half afraid Jisoo will try to keep him busy with duties the next day, interfering pain in the ass that he is. But it’s almost sunset, and Seungcheol can  _feel_  his desire to see Jihoon again, sharp and impatient behind his ribs. The sensation winds him impossibly tight, and he's relieved when at last Jisoo suggests he retire for the day.

The sea is the bluest Seungcheol's ever seen it, a sharp colour that pierces the eyes until they adjust, and Seungcheol can see the endless shape of it underneath the sun as he walks across the beach.

He picks a dry spot behind some rocks, spread his cloak out on the sand, and reads a book as he waits.

It’s only a handful of minutes before Jihoon rises out of the water like Seungcheol’s own personal fantasy. A slick, beautiful vision who flops down on the sand beside Seungcheol and smiles at him.

"Hey," he says, voice a silken purr.

Seungcheol sticks his finger in his book, and then figures  _who cares_. He removes his finger and tosses the book aside.

"Missed me?" Jihoon asks, but he's a greedy bastard who doesn't even wait for Seungcheol's answer before launching himself on Seungcheol.

Seungcheol has no choice but to fall under Jihoon’s urging, falling backward with the Merboy in his arms.

“Jihoon, what the—” Seungcheol laughs, but is quickly silenced by Jihoon’s warm and insistent mouth against his.  

Yep. Not shy at all.

Seungcheol moves now with his own thoughtless instinct, wrapping one arm around Jihoon's waist, tangling his free hand in Jihoon's hair. He shivers at the deliberate nudge of tongue along the seam of his lips and opens readily, crushing Jihoon all the more tightly against him.

Jihoon breathes a pleased hum, a satisfied sound muffled by the deepening kiss. Nimble fingers dance over Seungcheol's scalp, teasing, stroking through his hair. Startlingly gentle.

They make out like that, rolling around on Seungcheol’s cloak and then off the cloak into the sand.

The sand gets into Seungcheol’s trousers; cold under his back, cold on his overheated skin as it clings tight in a way that's uncomfortable and intoxicating. He feels halfway to obscene rolling around on the beach with his Merboy, with nothing to hide how much he wants. But there’s nobody for miles and he's got everything he wants underneath his fingertips: Jihoon gasping in pleasure as Seungcheol sucks at the sensitive spot on his neck.

In the blink of an eyes, Jihoon flips them over, knocking the air out of Seungcheol’s lungs.

“Somebodies eager today.” Seungcheol manages to laugh, with what little breath he has left.

“Shut up.” Jihoon murmurs without rancour, and Seungcheol gasps when he leans forward to tease the spot under Seungcheol's ear with tongue and—oh god— _teeth_.

“If I had known you were this hungry, I would have brought you food.” Seungcheol snickers, but Jihoon ignores him to stroke his fingertips down Seungcheol's side and underneath the waist of his britches.

“Can we do that thing again?” Jihoon asks, biting his lip and looking up at him through his lashes. A bright spark of hunger passes between them in an eager instant.

"Oh, fuck yes." Seungcheol says, and it comes out sounding embarrassingly throaty. He braces himself on one arm and rolls them over, pushing Jihoon back down on the sand to licking the salt off his lips. "But first of all—I need to speak to you about my fath-"

He doesn’t get to finish that sentence, because in the next moment there’s a wet slap on the back of his head and a large fish tumbles onto the sand next to them.

Seungcheol jerks back suddenly, reaching a hand to rub the damp patch on his hair and staring at Jihoon with wide-startled eyes.

“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t fling trout at me while we kiss passionately. It’s very distracting.” Seungcheol huffs.

They're in the middle of a steamy make out session, and Seungcheol would at least like to pretend he's an adult some of the time.

But, Jihoon looks every bit as confused as Seungcheol at the sight of the fish flopping nearby.  “I didn’t do that.” He pushes himself up to his elbows, and Seungcheol watches him blink in startled shock for a handful of seconds before gasping. “Oh _shit_.”

All the blood drains from Jihoon’s face as he catches sight of something over Seungcheol’s shoulder. When Seungcheol turns his head, he sees a young man with messy, unkempt hair floating in the water no more than a few feet away.

He’s got a furious scowl on his face as he waves his fist at them purposefully, and seems relieved yet frightened to have got Seungcheol’s attention. In a flash, the stranger flips backwards into the water, revealing the long curve of a fish tail and…

He’s another fucking Merman.

Seungcheol’s jaw drops open, then shuts with an audible click. “A friend of yours?” He asks, arching an eyebrow at Jihoon sprawled underneath him.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Jihoon huffs, “That’s Jeonghan, he’s my advisor.” He explains.

“ _Advisor_?” Seungcheol echoes, just as another fish comes flying through the air and smacks him in the head. It’s a much larger fish then the first one and Seungcheol’s head spins as he falls to the sand.

When he shakes the stars from his vision, he stumbles up onto his feet and casts a glance out over the water to where he can hear Jihoon and his merman friend _arguing_.

Seungcheol has no idea what they’re saying; their heated conversation is just a series clicks and squeaks and facial expressions. In a way which is, frankly, terrifying to watch. Neither of them seem to be winning at the moment, though Seungcheol knows subtle, protracted warfare when he sees it.

Right now, Jeonghan is pointing at him in a very accusing manner.

Whatever he’s saying—it’s probably not complimentary. He’s doing that purposeful fist waving again and it’s clear they are in disagreement about _something_. Probably him.

**Click—click—squeak—click—yelp.**

_'You foolish fool! I knew you were up to something!’_

**Squeak—squeak—yelp—click—click.**

_This is none of your business, return to the reef Hannie!’_

**Yelp—yelp—squeak—click—click—squeak—yeeelp.**

_None of my business! You’re tongue dancing—with a human!’_

**Yelp—squeak—yelp—click—click—croak—squeak—click—croak—hiss.**

_Yes! I am. And I’ll do it again! In fact I let him do more than just tongue dance me!’_

Suddenly Jeonghan’s face flushes bright red, and his eyes quickly brighten with exasperated disbelief.

**Squeak—squeak—squeak!**

_Oh my god. I’m telling your father!’_

**Yelp—yelp—squeak—hiss.**

_You wouldn’t! I’ll never speak to you again!’_

And now they’re _wrestling?_

Well—not quite. But it’s a fight of the fish variety anyway.

Seungcheol tries to make his mouth form words, but he’s a little dumbfounded. He knows that the expression on his own face is some sort of unflattering stupidity, but he’s just got around to the idea of one Merboy, and now there are _two_ —and they appear to be engaged in some sort of slapping contest.

Their tails are thrashing angrily, water splashing between them as they trade slaps back and forth with all the finesse of quarrelling cats and honestly, Seungcheol's _embarrassed_ for both of them.

“Seriously, _guys_.” Seungcheol tuts.

Jihoon may be significantly smaller than his friend, but he’s not letting his size impair him. Not at all. Seungcheol’s giving him a mental thumbs up for his eager show of strength because he’s wielding that small tail like a weapon.

Seungcheol doesn’t know whether to step in, or let them tire themselves out. He can only imagine what it would like if another person stumbled upon them now, and how difficult this all would be to explain.

Oh, and _now_ they’ve resorted to the time-honoured tradition of hair pulling.

Seungcheol thinks it’s time he intervened.

He kicks off his boots, rolls up his sleeves and wades into the water with purpose. They’re both so distracted trying to _bite_ each other, they don’t notice him approaching until he’s grabbed them both by the arm and wrenched them apart.

“All right! That’s it! Cut it out you two!” he yells, hoping it comes across imperious.

Jihoon allows Seungcheol to drag him back without much complaint, though he does try and slap his friend one last time with his fin. The other Merman, however, thrashes wildly in panic.

**Squeak—squeak—squeak—yelp.**

_‘Help, Jihoon—he’s going to eat me.’_

“Stop thrashing! I'm not going to hurt you.” Seungcheol roars and the thrashing stops immediately.

Seungcheol keeps his expression serious only with difficulty, “Now, I have absolutely no idea what you guys were arguing about, but it stops now. You're going to draw attention to us.”

“He started it.” Jihoon says immediately, and pouts like a five-year-old.

“Me?" Jeonghan glares, "You’re the one who-”

“I don’t care who started it.” Seungcheol interjects gruffly. “You both should be ashamed of yourselves. Honestly—you’re two grown—” What _is_ the word he’s looking for here? “ _Fish_?”

Both Jihoon and Jeonghan are frowning now, confused, or embarrassed, or perhaps both.

“Now, apologise to each other.” Seungcheol says, in a tone that he hopes conveys it will be is final word on the matter.

Both Merboy’s squeak something at each other in some unknown form of communication. Seungcheol hasn’t the foggiest idea what they said, but he thinks it _sounds_ apologetic, so he's going to let it slide.

“Good.” Seungcheol concludes, releasing his grip a little. “I’m going to let you both go and you’re not to start fighting again. Got it?”

They both nod and after a moment, he lets them go. Jihoon floats towards him immediately, ducking his head to nuzzle at Seungcheol's jaw, while the other Merman reels back, gaping in such horrified shock that Seungcheol has to laugh.

“But, Jihoon. He has _legs.”_ Jeonghan says, an edge of fascination under the horror. 

“Hannie, you can go now.” Jihoon says as sweetly as he can between clenched teeth, jerking his head toward the edge of the reef.

“I’m not leaving you here with _him_.” Jeonghan replies tersely, though Seungcheol can see he is straining not to be outwardly impolite.

Jihoon's eyes flashed, narrowing to piercing slits. “He’s not going to hurt me you idiot! Just go!”

Seungcheol takes a deep breath to defend himself, but holds it, and clenches his fists instead.

“It’s okay Jihoonie.” Seungcheol smiles at his Merboy, and the expression is only a little bit forced. “You should go. One Merboy is easy enough to conceal, but two is too much of a risk. Go home with your friend and I’ll meet you tomorrow.”

Jihoon looks shocked, but nods.

“Okay.” He agrees, sounding sullen. He appears every bit as frustrated as Seungcheol feels, and though the sight shouldn't be reassuring, it undeniably is.

With a final anxious look over his shoulder, Jihoon waves goodbye to him and leads Jeonghan away from the shore.

* * *

 

Jihoon swims quickly ahead, irritation evident in the vicious flick of his tail.

“I hope you’re happy—you ruined my time with Seungcheol. I was looking forward to it all day.”

Jeonghan lets out a dry snort. “I can’t believe he let us go.” He murmurs, still bewildered that they were able to swim away unharmed.

Jihoon spins and swims towards him. Deliberate, determined, placing them nearly chest-to-chest. 

“I can.” He snaps, poking Jeonghan squarely in the chest. “Because not all land dwellers are like father says. Stop filling your head with shit when you have no living proof. Seungcheol is kind, and gentle and he feeds me strawberries and reads books to me and gives me medallions.”

“I don’t know what any of those things _are_ , Jihoon.” Jeonghan huffs, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Jihoon sighs expansively. “That’s because you are content living a boring dull life in the caves. But, I’m not Hannie. I want to see things and talk to people and eat strawberries and kiss Seungcheol.”

Jeonghan is looking down at him now with an expression of forced placidity, “Kiss?”

Jihoon draws away with a huff. “It’s a human word for tongue dancing.” He explains, swimming again quickly towards his cave.

Jeonghan follows behind, looking more confused now than annoyed. Jihoon prefers that; weary impatience is a positive step from angry judgment. 

Jihoon stops outside his cave, picks a flat rock to stretch out and sulk on. There’s no point trying to get some privacy from Jeonghan now; he knows this conversation is far from over.

“I still can’t believe you tongue danced a _human_ , Jihoon. But you’ve always been so rebellious, so I suppose I should have expected it.” Jeonghan says with a put-upon sigh. “I knew you were up to something, but not that. At first I thought he was trying to _eat_ you, then I thought _you_ were trying to eat _him_ —and you were both making all these gross _noises_.”

“It’s not gross. We were having fun.” Jihoon admits, defiance and challenge in the jut of his jaw. 

One corner of Jeonghan’s mouth twitches, barely visible. “Yes, I suppose you were. But it was extremely horrifying to watch you writhing in the sand together. Like two mating _seals_. I was very disturbed.”

 _“You’re just jealous.”_ Jihoon grins up at Jeonghan, bright and unapologetic.

“I am _not_.” Jeonghan gasps, outraged. His face falls more serious as he says, “I have tongue danced myself on many occasions. Back when I was a carefree Merboy, frolicking in the ocean—I tongue danced everything in sight.” He says, trying to sound off-hand and failing miserably.

“Oh, _really_?”

“Yes.” Jeonghan nods smugly. “They even had a nickname for me— _The slippery eel.”_

Jihoon affects a gag even though he’s snorting with laughter, he can't believe his ears.

Jeonghan scowls, but Jihoon can't help himself, laughter pouring out of him unrestrained. 

Jeonghan turns a withering glare on him, _“My point is_ —there are plenty of opportunities in the sea. You don’t have to go to the shore for your fun.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “I know, but it means a lot more when you’re doing it with someone you like. Someone who _cares_ about you. When Seungcheol touches me, it’s exhilarating. Like nothing else. I don’t know why he has this effect on me, but Seungcheol makes me really— _happy_.” He finishes with a bashful smile.

It’s such a strange and new feeling that Jihoon’s not entirely certain whether that’s what he _means_ , or if it’s something else, something for which he doesn’t have the right words.

Jeonghan’s eyes narrow in answer. Piercing, considering, measuring. Careful. Jihoon holds his breath beneath the scrutiny. He waits silently, vibrating with unspoken impatience.

When at last Jeonghan speaks, his voice is measured. “He _did_ seem very fond of you. And I suppose he was the one to gift you all those trinkets you’ve been hoarding?”

Jihoon nods, tail flickering happily against the rock. “He had the necklace made especially for me.”

“Hmm. But just because he gifts you things, doesn’t mean he’s safe. He could be up to something.” Jeonghan says, all unhappiness and worry.

Jihoon snorts as Jeonghan settles easily into the space beside him. They sit shoulder to shoulder, looking out together across a vast and colourful ocean bed.

“Seungcheol’s had plenty of opportunities to capture me if that was his intention. He always worries about my safety and if he intended to harm us, he wouldn’t have let us go.”

Jeonghan tips his head to the side, agreeing that Jihoon may be speaking the truth. The he leans in, brows drawing down.

“What did you mean exactly, when you said you did _more_ than tongue dancing?”

Jihoon quirks a brow. “Do you _really_ want to know?”

“Yes. You’ve made me _curious_ now.” Jeonghan smiles, and bumps his arm companionably into Jihoon's.

Jihoon smiles back. He can recognize a peace offering when he sees one.  

Jihoon goes into extreme and unnecessarily graphic detail about all the fun things he did with Seungcheol in the cave. So much so, that Jeonghan's expression sits somewhere between polite horror and nausea when he’s finished.

“It was surprisingly salty. But I liked it.” Jihoon says, nodding his head in vindication.

Jeonghan stares at him for a long moment before he speaks. “Yeah, I didn’t really need to know all that.” He blinks to clear his vision, trying not to look at the illustration Jihoon has carved onto the rock.  

“You were the one who asked.” Jihoon huffs, rubbing out the graphic drawings.

Jeonghan sighs and shakes his head. "What am I going to do with you?" he asks, but it sounds like a rhetorical question, a little fond even.

* * *

 

Jihoon wakes after a nightmare, he’s shivering and panting, his head hurts and his tail feels oddly numb.

He was dreaming about Seungcheol, about them walking along the beach together holding hands, about them tangled in a mess of sand and limbs and how good that would feel… but then they were suddenly in the ocean; and Seungcheol was a Merman too and Jihoon was being pulled down to the deep by some unknown darkness.

And Seungcheol couldn’t save him.

Everything feels wrong and it only gets worse when Jeonghan is swimming into his cave and telling him. “Your father has summoned you.”

He must catch the horrified look in Jihoon's eyes, because he quickly adds, “I didn’t tell him anything.”

Jihoon searches Jeonghan’s eyes and finds all the reassurance he needs. “Do you know what it is about?”

Jeonghan shakes his head. “Honestly, no. But it appears to be urgent, and I wouldn’t keep the Mer-King waiting.”

Jihoon doesn’t hesitate, he swims out of his cave and towards his father’s dwelling.

* * *

 

Eavesdropping is an unkind habit, but one Jihoon has never managed to break. He hangs back when he finds his father and an unknown Merman in muted conversation. They're too far away to be overheard, but that is little impediment to Jihoon.

The sun is long set, and the moon casts uneven light through the water, leaving long shadows that let him close enough to overhear—close enough to duck unnoticed into a dark cave near the large rock where the two are floating.

“You are very worthy. I assure you of that.” His father says, clapping the other Merman on the back.

Jihoon frowns, not quite sure he knows what they are discussing, but he can tell from the reluctant intensity in father's tone that he's missed something important.

He tries not to panic at the reasons behind this meeting, and for a moment it's a losing battle. The uncertainty is maddening.

It would be a great deal less harmless if his father merely wanted to see him to reprimand him for sleeping away from the reef overnight or swimming to close to the shore, but if he  _knows_ about Seungcheol—

No. That is a vicious circle to fall into, and no good can come of it.

Jihoon forces himself to stop, to consider the situation intelligently. If his father already knows, then the damage is done and there is no point agonizing over it now.

He holds himself still and silent and counts to ten before emerging from his shadows.

“Ah—Jihoon, there you are.” His father calls out, sighting him as he emerges.

Jihoon is familiar with a hundred variations of his father's displeasure, but he doesn’t recognize the expression he sees on the king's face today. His father seems almost _happy_.

“Jihoon—this is Suho. He’s a native of these waters and is a very skilled hunter. He has been most useful in helping us rebuild and acclimatise to these waters, and his speed in the water is impressive.”

Jihoon manages to supress and eyeroll, and settles for a weak smile and a mental _‘Good for you’_

His father pauses and sets a strong, strangely reassuring hand on Jihoon's shoulder. “You will mate with him.”

Jihoon blinks in confusion at what feels like an abrupt shift in topic.

“ _What_?” he manages, recovering quickly.

Of all the things he was expecting to discuss—this was not one of them.

“Naturally, you’ll need time to get to know each other.” The Merking continues, oblivious to Jihoon’s silent turmoil. “But the waters are warming, and mating season is upon us, so do it quickly.”

Jihoon opens his mouth, but it takes him a couple of tries to make the words come. His insides feel too tight all of a sudden, his face too warm and his tail twitchy. He needs to collect himself, a task nearly impossible with his father so close, planning his life away with fucking Suho without his consent.

His thoughts are a spinning and chaotic jumble, his emotions even worse. He needs to  _think_.

With stubborn effort he finds some measure of calm, and clutches it to himself.

“No.” Jihoon says at last, little more than a whisper.

The word stops his father mid speech, and draws the King’s brows down. He shakes his head, drawing Jihoon to the side and stopping.

“No. What do you mean— _no_?” His father’s voice rumbles low and dangerous.

“I don’t want—” Jihoon stiffens when his father gives him a hard look. He does his best to untense, but still hesitates, still has to swallow past the lump of emotion in his throat before he can admit “I don’t want to mate with him.”

“Jihoon,” The Merking’s hands are suddenly firm on his shoulders, “I know this seems a little out of the blue, and you’re used to spending your days at play, but you’re of _age_ now. Our numbers have never been lower and every day we are in danger from the shore dwellers. Every day we fight to keep our territory, to keep our heritage alive. ”

His father’s grip on his shoulders grows firmer, a mark of frustration Jihoon knows, but he lets himself be turned when his father tugs gently at him to gesture at the expanse of the reef.

“We used to rule these shores once. For centuries our kingdom was the most impressive in the seven seas, the largest and most powerful by far. Now _look_ ,” He hisses, waving a hand at the dark caves that populate the ocean bed.”—we have been reduced to this: leaving our homes, living in _caves_ and fleeing when we are discovered.”

His father turns him gently, grip still strong. “You were too young to remember your mother, but I think of her sacrifice for our people. We all must make sacrifices— _even you.”_

Jihoon can't speak for the sudden emotion tightening his throat. He can feel the sting of anger and grief. There are years between now and then, but his mother’s death hurts the way a sliver does when it’s impossible to remove from under the skin. 

“I’m tired of you bringing her up every time you want me to do something. I know she sacrificed a lot, but I--” His pulse speeds faster as the words leave his mouth. “I don’t want to mate with just _anybody_. I want to _choose_. Everyone else gets to, it’s my right.”

His father stares him down in earnest now, anger rippling his features.

“You don’t _have_ a right. It is your _duty_ as _prince_ to continue the royal line, to mate and produce and _survive_. Since you have demonstrated no interest in finding a mate of your own— _I have found one for you.”_

A chill shivers across Jihoon's skin at the way his father all but spits the words, the taut disapproval in every syllable.

“Maybe I have found somebody.” Jihoon says. He intends a firm voice, but what comes out is faint and unsteady. Helpless.

Jihoon does not like feeling helpless.

“ _Oh_? Then who is it? Let them come forward.” His father counters darkly.

“They—they can’t come here.” Jihoon says helplessly, feeling small and guilty.

Even if Seungcheol _could_ swim down this deep, he wouldn’t stay. He’s used to the brightness of his own world, its textures and colours and lights. He’d never trade it in for the shadowy caves of Jihoon’s.

“Why not?” Jihoon’s father interrupts with an aggressive huff through his gills that make the water around him hiss. “If they wish to mate with you—I demand their presence.”

“Why must I mate now?” Jihoon raises his chin in challenge, one corner of his mouth tugging upwards in a show of insolence that would be tolerated in no one else. “What’s the sudden urgency? We are safer here than we have ever been. Can’t I have time to explore my options?” He asks his own voice reasonable and surprisingly light.

“There is no time.” The Merking snaps. His voice is not so hushed now, and his anger thunders in the large cave. “A suitable mate awaits you now, and you _will_ obey. My word is final.”

Jihoon vicious self-control asserts itself quickly, and he draws himself taller, turning his gaze from his father deliberately. “No. I’m not doing it and you can’t make me.”

He wriggles out of his father’s hold abruptly and darts to the side to swim around him.

“Jihoon!”

* * *

 

Jihoon swims away blindly, leaving the reef and his father far behind him.

Once he leaves the deepest depths, he crests over the waves and uses the light from the moon to navigate his path.

It’s unsafe to be swimming out here at night, but he can’t go back.  

Each time he crests the water he can feel the wind picking up. It’s gradual at first, then sharp and fast. The rain starts suddenly, lightning and thunder tearing through the sky. A violent storm brewing out of the calmest sky. And then—

Then the sky tears itself open and it's like the world falls in, water drops in sheets that crash onto the surface of the sea, forcing Jihoon to swim faster, duck quicker under each wave. The water around him is brightly lit by flashes of lightening and echoed by vibrations of thunder so close and so loud it feels like it's right above him.

Jihoon tries to swim just out of reach of the strongest currents, but the drag of the stormy sea is too strong and pulls him towards the shore line faster than he intended.

The cold slap of wave pushes Jihoon against the rocks, knocking his small frame against the stone. He screams in pain as a jagged edge pierces his tail, blood swirling in the water.

Another wave slams him against the rocks again, and he clings to the stone and tries to launch himself off and swim to safety. But he’s losing blood, and soon exhaustion overcomes him, he can feel his eyes closing.

He tries to fight it but after another rough toss against the rocky shore, his world fades to black and he slips under the oceans waves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Sorry it's taken so long to update this again. :(  
> 2) In this world, Merman are weaker than humans. It's in their nature to flee than try and fight off a predator. Hence why Jihoon has lived all over the place, because every time a new danger surfaces, they have to leave. Also why Jihoon doesn't reveal he's a prince earlier, cause he doesn't identify as one because they have no kingdom to rule anymore. If that makes sense.  
> 3) I was going to write more smut, but I just decided to let ya'll use your imagination to come up with what else they did in the cave.  
> 4) Legs soon.  
> 5) Hope you enjoyed this update, thanks for reading and feedback always appreciated!


	6. Like a storm in the distance

In truth, there really are no herbs or plants to be found down by the shore; the waves wash away anything valuable before it cultivates. But Soonyoung’s always been able to find a way to get out of doing more work than absolutely necessary, and a walk along the beach is a rare luxury he enjoyed.

Besides, it always sounds more professional to excuse his absence by saying _‘I was collecting ingredients’_ then openly admitting _‘I was skirting my duties to take a leisurely stroll’_.

He needs to keep his job after-all.

He lets the sunlight warm his face and continues his walk down the beach, occasionally flicking at the sand with his boots. He stoops now and then to collect shells despite the fact that the collection he keeps no longer fits his jar.

A flash of blue near some driftwood catches his eye, and he moves towards it. He has shells of this colour already, but never quite this _big_.

When he reaches down to collect his prize, he stills, realizing that caught up amongst the driftwood and sand is _flesh_.

In front of him lies an arm extended, fingers somewhat buried amongst the sand. Soonyoung stills for a moment, his eyes following along the arm until he sees blonde tousled hair, damp with seawater and mussed with grit.

He’d seen a body, once before. As a young boy out fishing with his father, he had caught a glimpse of a washed-up corpse on the beach before his father thought to avert his young gaze. He remembers disturbingly the look of the bloated skin, the blue tinged lips. Drowning can make a body look almost like it came from the sea, like some sort of a misshapen, grotesque jellyfish.

But the arm before him now looks dry, and the face of the boy he bares after wiping away a section of dirty hair is dry as well. The lips are cracked and raw, but not deathly blue.

There is a cord wrapped around the boy’s neck, netting from the looks of it.

Soonyoung follows the line of it across the youth's body to where it’s tied to a large piece of driftwood, pinning him down. His eyes move back up to the dry bow shaped lips and over what had been a handsome face once; high cheekbones and fine brows, feathery lashes revealing half open eyes; ethereal features that are very different to the sailors that frequent these shores.

Soonyoung feels the breath rip from his chest when he realizes the eyes are looking right at _him_. He immediately scrambles forward when the eyes shift over his face and the lips part in the barest of sighs.

_He’s alive._

Soonyoung hastily presses two fingers to the boy’s throat, feeling for a pulse. He can’t find one, but he can see the slim chest rise and fall, a raspy sound escaping the parched lips. “Cheol.”

“Can you sit up?” Soonyoung asks, already sure of the answer but asking all the same.

The boy makes no reply or attempt to move.

Soonyoung reaches a hand forward, tentatively brushing sand and hair from the boy’s eyes.

“Let’s get you up, okay. My workshop is not far from here, I can get you help.” Soonyoung says softly, moving on his knees so he can lift the large pieces of driftwood from the youth’s stomach and hips.

He grips the first piece, lifting carefully in case the youth is injured. His eyes move down the youth’s flat stomach, over the jut of his hipbones as he breathes in. There’s sand and muck marring his skin, mostly crusted dry in the sun and wind. Soonyoung wipes it away carefully with his free hand as the other pushes the driftwood aside.

Carefully, he brushes away a piece of kelp from about the youth’s hips, and the skin beneath his fingers gives way to something much more— _rough_. Scaly almost.

Soonyoung furrows his brow and looks down, rubbing gently at the skin and squinting as the waning light glints off the patch he just cleaned.

The skin there looks _odd_ : patchy, topped with strange white flakes and sand that have dried upon the youth’s skin.

He leans in to get a closer look, but the strange flakes blow off when a breeze picks up to reveal a perfectly normal pair of legs.

 _Huh_.

* * *

 

Seungcheol has an unpleasant feeling in his gut, a simple sense that something is  _wrong_ , though he can't put words to his reason.

He's being paranoid probably. _Hopefully_.

He's just taking it personally that Jihoon hasn’t come to visit him as arranged, and now he's alarming himself for no reason.

But patience is difficult the next day when the sun sets and Jihoon remains out of Seungcheol's reach.

Two days pass. Three. Jihoon doesn’t visit him, or if he does—Seungcheol keeps missing him.

He visits their special cave, the rock pool, the pier—every location they have shared a moment to wait for him. But his Merboy doesn’t come.

Seungcheol feels wrong in his own skin, constantly distracted no matter his task. His worry for Jihoon settles behind his ribs, a tangible presence keeping him anxious and unsteady. The sensation mounts with each passing hour, until he starts to wonder if he's going genuinely _mad_.

His sleep is patchy, broken too easily by nothing at all. Dreams of Jihoon end jarringly, warmth giving way to the cool darkness of Seungcheol’s room.

On the seventh day, Jisoo doesn't assign him a schedule—grumbling that Seungcheol is too distracted for Princely duties.

Seungcheol considers taking a boat out to find Jihoon, but many have been damaged in the storm and so he finds himself pacing the stretch of broken pier instead, wondering and waiting.

He worries that Jihoon has gotten in trouble with his father—has been forbidden from returning to him. He worries even more that something dreadful has happened to his precious Merboy. Perhaps he was captured or eaten by a shark.  

Terror constricts his heart, and he _hates_ this. He doesn't know how to stand helplessly by if Jihoon’s in danger; it goes against every instinct in his bones.

Jihoon’s absence plays tricks on him as each daylight gives way to another sunset. He can hear Jihoon's voice in his head, a phantom memory calling his name.

‘ _Cheol’_

Not a memory, though. Not _precisely_.

Jihoon has never said his name quite this way, low and urgent and _pleading_.

Seungcheol doesn't sleep well at night, though he tries.

The pleading call in the back of his head has gradually crescendos, spreading through him like a physical need.

He must find him.

* * *

 

Outside, morning dawns so slowly that Soonyoung doesn't notice.

The boy stirs before Soonyoung realizes how bright the room has become, gray light creeping grimly along the horizon and sneaking through the window. The light offers all too clear a view of the restless way the boy shifts in his bed, slow to open his eyes.

He’s clearly disoriented when he wakes, and Soonyoung can guess easily enough at what his first questions will be. _If_ he can speak that is.

The boy turns his head without sitting up, taking in his surroundings.

Soonyoung holds out his hands, to reinforce how unarmed and harmless he is.

"It’s okay, you’re safe." Soonyoung breaks in dully. He doesn't bother to elaborate, never mind the confusion furrowing the boy's brow.

Upon further examination, he realizes the youth is likely older than he originally assumed. His slim form and smooth skin are that of a boy, but his shoulders are broad and his eyes far from those of a child. 

Soonyoung fetches a little vial of tonic and pours it into a steaming mug of tea, before helping the boy sit up.

“There you go. It’s a special tonic of my own creation. It has Gotu Kola and Astragalus and Cordyceps and a few other secret ingredients I can’t divulge without losing my job, but it will help warm you up, and hopefully take care of your injuries.”

“Thank you.” The boy murmurs quietly, taking a cautious sip.

“So—you _do_ have a voice.” Soonyoung grins, clapping his hands together. “I thought you were a mute.”

“No, I can speak.” The boy says. He presses his lips together, as if he’s preventing himself from saying more.

Soonyoung kneels down to probe the injured leg carefully.

“The gash on your leg looks nasty.” Soonyoung stops prodding the tidy and unbroken skin to look up at the boy. “You must have gotten it when you fell overboard, scraped it on the rocks or something. You should be more careful when you fall off ships. Though I suppose you didn’t have much _say_ in that. People don’t generally _choose_ to fall off ships. Unless they jump! Did you _jump_ off the ship?”

The boy’s expression has shifted to a curious mixture of annoyed and amused. “Huh?” he says.

It’s an expression Soonyoung has heard people use disturbingly often, especially around _him_. Which he chose to find encouraging, rather than worry about.

“Oh—I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself, I’m Soonyoung. I apologise if I’m a little _distracted_ , but I don’t get to meet new people very often you see. Not because I lack any social _manoeuvring_ skills or anything, it’s just that I’m very busy with work, and I only meet the same group of people every day. And after a while you run out of things to say to them and the encounters can be dreadfully _dull_. So I’m very happy that you’re here—though I am sorry you fell of the ship. Or possibly _jumped_ —since we haven’t established _why_ you were lying unconscious on the beach yet.”

"You talk a lot," The boy says plainly. Though he says it like he's pointing it out, observing it, rather than judging it, or threatening to make him stop.

Soonyoung sighs expansively. “Yes, I suppose do. Anyway, how does your leg feel?”

“I feel— _leg_?” The boy stops short, mouth closing and lips thinning into an expression Soonyoung can't decipher. He shifts to the edge of the bed, movements tentative and shaky.

He's moving with purpose, but when he swings his legs to the floor he doesn't stand. Not yet. His fingers curl tightly around the edge of the mattress, knuckles white as he stares intently down at his legs.

Wiggling his toes briefly, he blinks in surprise—almost like he’s never seen them before or amazed they function at all.  

Soonyoung doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns his back and goes to the stove to pour himself some tea.

“So,” says Soonyoung. He turns, in time to see the boy wobble on his feet, then catch himself. He’s gone a nasty shade of white. The lines in his throat stand out when he swallows. “All right?”

The boy nods and sinks back onto the bed. “Legs.” He repeats, sorely confused.  

Soonyoung watches him for a minute before asking, “So, what happened? Did your ship get caught up in last night’s storm?”

The boy has a faraway look in his eyes, and softly admits “Storm. _Yeah_ —I remember there was a storm. Lightning and thunder. _Rain_.”

For a fleeting instant the boy’s expression shifts, and genuine fear flashes behind his eyes. There and then gone, so fast Soonyoung might almost believe he imagined it. “The waves—crashing all around me.”

Soonyoung tips his head to the side and looks at him, expression serious, “Yes, it was a very bad storm. Wreaked havoc on the royal fleet docked at the port. What ship were _you_ sailing on?”

“I don’t know.” The boy says, sounding strained.

Soonyoung looks heavenward for patience.

“Well—do you remember the _captain_ of the ship?” He asks, frustrated with these cryptic evasions. He doesn't like the boy’s guarded tone, or the grudging reluctance with which he is divulging the information Soonyoung needs to help him. “I know most of the captains who fish in these waters, so I can relay them a message on your behalf.”

The boy shakes his head. “I don’t remember.”

Soonyoung is wary again, searching the boy’s eyes for answers he won't find there. He supposes the best thing to do is start simple and work their way up. “Okay then. You don’t remember what ship you were sailing on or how you ended up on the beach. So, what about your _name_?”

The boy’s back straightens like a spear, and he drags his gaze from the floor to look steadily at Soonyoung.

“I don’t—I don’t _know_.” The boy sounds helpless, and his eyes are alarmingly wide. Tearful.

Soonyoung physically starts at that, struggling to wrap his head around the implications. “Oh.”

Well— _shit_.

* * *

 

Jisoo is just about to knock on the chamber door when he hears the purposeful stride of footsteps echoing in the corridor.

He turns to see Seungcheol approaching, wearing the almost-glower of a man who is determinedly  _not_  sulking—a crown prince never sulks, or so Seungcheol has insisted to Jisoo on more than one occasion.

“You’re up early.” Jisoo begins, then must dart out of the way as Seungcheol swirls past him and into his room, trailing cape and anger. His boots leave wet, sandy imprints on the marble which tell Jisoo his Prince has been down at the beach again, possibly on another quest to seek out his beloved thieving seagull.

Jisoo gathers his scrolls and follows after a moment, a quiet, cautious shadow.

“May I enter?” He speaks out, knocking on the door gently.

Seungcheol is pacing the length of the room. He looks set to grind his way through the floor, but raises a hand in answer, fingers twitching under his glove, as though he is set to throttle someone if only given a target for his rage.

“I see that we’ll have the pleasure of your foul mood again today.” Jisoo offers dryly, hoping to snap Seungcheol into replying with some witty barb. Any reaction would be better than the ceaseless pacing he’s taken to doing the past few days.  

Unfortunately, Seungcheol doesn’t take the bait and the silence drags on painfully.

“Usually you return from the beach in high spirits, but these last few trips have left you more and more agitated. Care to share?” He tries again.

Seungcheol doesn’t speak. He moves immediately to the balcony, and his posture is painfully tight as he braces his palms on the stone and leans forward. He stares down at the beach, his gaze fierce, his posture tense. He looks like a weapon unsheathed, all sharp edges and waiting wrath.

With difficulty, Jisoo holds his tongue. He crosses to the balcony with quiet steps and positions himself at Seungcheol's side. 

Seungcheol must notice, perpetually aware of his surroundings as he is, but long moments pass before he tilts his head to acknowledge Jisoo.

“I can’t—” Seungcheol tapers off and for several seconds simply looks at him, cryptic and motionless.

“Seungcheol,” Jisoo leans forward, pleading with his eyes. “What is it? What has you so bothered as of late?”

Seungcheol is quiet so long, Jisoo wonders if he will answer at all. There's a considering look on his face, a sombre, pensive shadow in his eyes. When he finally speaks, his words carry too much weight.

“I can’t find him.” He says at last. His quiet, broken voice sends a chill down Jisoo's spine. His face is cold, his eyes bright and terrifying.

“ _Whom_?” Jisoo asks.

“Jih—” Seungcheol is suddenly unreadable, guard going up so abruptly that Jisoo's hackles rise in answer. 

“Honestly—how are any of us supposed to help you if you won’t tell us what’s wrong!” He snaps, his patience evaporating.

A muscle in Seungcheol's jaw works, and his throat moves in a hard swallow. “I don’t need your help. Get out.”

* * *

 

Soonyoung lets him pick his own name, and he selects the word randomly from the text in one the books in the workshop— _Woozi_.

Soonyoung laughs for a whole ten minutes when he picks it, then refuses to tell him what it means, but he likes it anyway.

Even if it’s unusual and rolls off his tongue all wrong and when people ask him for it he blanks temporarily; certain the word should be filled with _something else_.

If only he could _remember_.

But he supposes it'll do.

It's the only name he has right now. And it's definitely better than no name at all.

Currently the inside of his brain is a fog of half-processed thoughts. It's not empty - he knows things, he remembers  _things_ , but nothing about himself.

His injuries have healed, and he walks (stumbles really) around well enough. But he feels like he’s missing something familiar and intimate, a _part_  of him that feels unnatural when he studies his reflection in the mirror. There’s a lingering absence he can't put into words. He's tried, but Soonyoung just looks at him too strangely, confusion tinged with quiet concern.

Woozi hates seeing that look on the Soonyoung’s face, so he hasn't tried again.

“What’s this?” Woozi asks, tapping the side of a strange hollow instrument hanging in the workshop. It is filled with what looks rather like _mucous_.

Soonyoung looks up at him from his etchings, surprised. Woozi generally doesn’t initiate conversations.

"Really?" Soonyoung says in response, frowning, “It’s a pot. You don’t know what a pot is?”

Woozi shrugs. “Guess not.”

Soonyoung examines him thoughtfully. “Yet you know the word for water in a dozen languages and can cuss my mother in a dozen more.” He says sceptically

Woozi rolls his eyes. “Isn’t that just another symptom of—what was it— _amnesia_?”

“No. Not usually.” Soonyoung looks momentarily puzzled, then says, “You shouldn’t forget words for simple objects that most people interact with on a daily basis. Names, places—some experiences are normally blurred with amnesia, but your lapse in memory is so unique it’s almost as if you have never interacted with certain objects your entire life. You speak a dozen or so languages fluently, yet you can’t read or write in any of them. That’s not something I’ve come across before. Not that I’ve actually _met_ many amnesiacs.”

“Hmm.” Woozi hums thoughtfully. He moves carefully towards the cabinet on the far side of the room, unstoppers a vial at random, takes a sniff. “ _Pew_ —what’s this?”

“Ah—that’s feverfew tonic.” Soonyoung explains. “As the name suggests it’s to help manage a fever. But it has other medicinal uses too. It’s very good for general aches and pains, and very good for indigestion. Very popular.”

“It smells like whale ass.” Woozi offers, in his driest voice.

Soonyoung quirks an amused eyebrow. “Not sure I’m familiar with that _particular_ scent. You have a strange way of describing things.”

Woozi gestures in a vague sort of way, perfectly aware that what he's about to say is going to come out wrong. “It’s just the first thought that came to my head. It seemed like an apt description to me.” He says, but he closes the vial and returns it to its home.

He continues his journey of exploration, pointing out other things dotted around the room and asking Soonyoung their purpose. Some things he’s familiar with by name if not by appearance, while others completely _baffle_ him.

One item does draw his attention though, a familiar creature on the ‘tapestry’ hanging on the far wall. It’s weaved in gold thread on a rich red cloth.

“That’s the Royal Crest.” Soonyoung says, before Woozi can summon the words to ask him. “It’s very bright, and assaults my eyes every morning—but I dare not take it down in case I’m accused of treason or something.” He laughs

“A Lion.” Woozi says, recognising the creature on the tapestry at once.

“That’s right— _see_ you do know a few things.” Soonyoung says a tad condescendingly. “Strange though, how you know what a Lion looks like, but not what a _spoon_ is for.” He announces in a crisp, matter of fact tone.

Woozi isn’t listening to him though, gaze fixed on the image before him.

He’s certain he’s seen it before, on a smaller scale, glinting in the sunlight and hanging off somebody’s neck.

_Strong, broad shoulders, dark hair…_

“Would you like to help me finish this next tonic? It’s faster with two sets of hands.” Soonyoung’s voice jars him.

Woozi struggles with himself for a long moment, and finally manages to shift his attention away from the crest.

He crosses the workroom cautiously and leans a hip against the workbench. He feels jittery and off, and thinks immersing himself in something new to learn will help clear the jumbled thoughts in his head.

He tries to get a better look over Soonyoung's arm, though he's being very protective of his mysterious scrolls. “Okay. What are we making?”

Soonyoung sets a wooden board out on the table, gesturing. “A sleeping tonic for Seungcheol.”

Woozi tilts his head up sharply, “ _Seungcheol_?” He echoes, as the name echoes in his memories. He frowns and shakes his head, pretending his pulse isn't galloping in his throat, and tugs on his apron. “That name—it sounds familiar.” He whispers.

Soonyoung looks up briefly, before turning back to his work. “Well, it should. He’s the Prince.”

“Prince?” Woozi murmurs.

“ _Yes_. Crown Prince Seungcheol—First of his name, heir to the throne.” Soonyoung intones, like adding extra words to a sentence was supposed to be helpful.

“You work for a Royal family?” Woozi isn't quite sure whether he sounds nervous or irritated, surprise makes his voice louder than he means.

Soonyoung stops organising his vials and put his hands on his hips.

“Yes. Where do you think we are?” He sounds serious, and surprised.

Woozi blinks at him. “Your workshop?”

Soonyoung sighs, loudly, like Woozi had just proven conclusively that he was an idiot.

“And where do you think my workshop might be?” Soonyoung asks, which is very confusing for a minute.

Woozi glances around the room, at the stone walls and arched windows, at the colourful vials and jars decorating every surface before sparing a glance at the tapestry again. Now when he thinks about it, he doesn’t remember how he got here at all, only that he woke up and found himself in this strange location. He’d been so busy trying to search his memories and learning new things, he hadn’t once thought about where he actually was.

“I don’t know.” He says truthfully.

Soonyoung sighs. “We’re in my workshop—in the Royal Palace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Lol  
> 2) Can you guess where this is going?  
> 3) I know it's a short chapter. But it was going to be dreadfully long if I didn't stop it there.  
> 4) Hope you enjoyed reading though.  
> Feedback always appreciated.


	7. This boy from the land

“Seungcheol.” A voice calls to him from outside his chambers—The King, sounding distant and frantic. He can't be more than twenty feet away, but Seungcheol barely hears him and doesn't care to listen.

The doors to his inner chamber swing open and the sounds of boots echo on the marble as the King hovers close.

Seungcheol tilts his head up to look at his father, knows instantly that he’s come to allay his own worries. There are guarded shadows in the way he watches him, concern deepening in the heavy tilt of his eyebrows.

He is silent for a long time, but finally he sighs and sits across from Seungcheol, folding his hands together on his lap.

“I know you’re angry. I know you’re and upset about _something_ —and I’m trying to be understanding Seungcheol, but I still expect you to rise when I enter. I am still _King_.”

Seungcheol rises abruptly from his seat, stumbling a little as he makes a big show of bowing.

“Your _highness_. Do what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fine day.” He drawls, before dropping gracelessly into his seat again.

He knows he's being unfathomably insolent. But he doesn’t _care_.

“ _Insolent_.” His father says simply, though some of the anger breaks apart, recedes.

Seungcheol doesn't know why his father forgives him so easily, doesn't want to question it, too afraid he'll break it somehow.

He does laugh then, he can't help it. “I’m sorry.”

The King’s posture sags with worry and disappointment, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Seungcheol—what is the matter with you? You take to your chambers most of the day, you abandon your duties—you drink _far_ more than you have ever done. Your mother and I are _worried_.” The King says in the same low, controlled voice as before.

Seungcheol stares out the window and sighs. "I love this Kingdom but it takes as quickly as it gives. And now—it’s like someone has cut right into me and taken everything precious.”

“I take it—this has something to do with the person you were courting? Has that arrangement ended?” The King says, more softly than Seungcheol has ever heard him speak. 

Seungcheol grits his teeth, squashes the tiny, bitter ember of hope of ever finding Jihoon again and finally turns to the King. “ _Yes_.”

The King sighs, and his expression is so apologetic that Seungcheol doesn't want to hear what he's about to say.

“I am sorry to hear that Seungcheol, but as you know—there are plenty more fish in the sea.” His father says. Which Seungcheol thinks is supposed to make him _feel_ better.

It really doesn’t.

“Yes, father.” Seungcheol says through gritted teeth.

* * *

 

Soonyoung has been kind enough to offer Woozi a position as his apprentice in the palace workshops.

Woozi doesn’t know how useful he can be when he can’t read or write or while his memories remain a molten jumble, but Soonyoung tells him his fluency in memorising the recipes will make the work a ‘Piece of cake’.

Woozi’s still not entirely sure what cake _is_ , besides edible and something Soonyoung likes to discuss at length, but he accepts the offer regardless. He owes Soonyoung his life after all and he has nowhere else to be.

Soon he has enough skill mixing tonics that Soonyoung leaves him the bulk of the work while spending most days in the King’s Chambers, tending to the queen, who has come down with a fever. It’s a dangerous illness, according to Soonyoung, but one that should be simple enough to cure.

He’s allocated a small, simple chamber next to Soonyoung’s workshop to sleep in. The room smells of bitter herbs and burning substances, unfamiliar scents that make his nose wrinkle though Soonyoung seems to barely notices them.

The smells make sleeping difficult for Woozi, and sleeping was rather difficult to begin with.

He struggles to get comfortable in his bed, tossing and turning, wrestling with the sheets and trying to curl his ‘legs’ into an unusual position they’re not meant to bend into. On those rare occasions he does manage to drift off without contorting his body, his sleep is hampered by dreams.

The details are mutable, but the dream is still the same; friction and heat and naked skin.

He awakes those nights with a throbbing in his ‘pants’. He never had to ask Soonyoung what it was, because he’s familiar with the hard length between his thighs; it’s a dick, cock, penis—a _third leg,_ a quiet part of his mind echoes.  

It’s strangely familiar in a way that’s hilarious, though he doesn’t know _why_. Although he wishes he knew how to make it go away because it throbs when he ignores it and it throbs when he doesn’t. Yelling at it achieves nothing and poking it repeatedly was met with— _mixed results._

Thankfully, it only bothers him at night when he dreams.

* * *

 

Seungcheol sends away the servant that arrives to see to clean his room. The mess of anger in his chest—most of it aimed directly at himself—makes it difficult to stay civil. He wants to snap and shout and order the girl from his sight. But she is young and quiet, and she's done nothing to merit his ire.

"May I at least bring you some breakfast, my lord?" she asks, hovering uncertainly at the door.

"No," he says at last, turning towards the basin of water she carried in when she first stepped through the door. "I will not require anyone's services today. You may go." It's a firm dismissal, and the door clicks shut as Seungcheol dips his hands in the bowl.

The cool splash of water doesn't help. Anger still heats his face, and Seungcheol feels hollow inside.

Seungcheol stands there, trapped in his own thoughts, and he is still staring down into the water basin when his door opens again. There is no knock requesting permission, and for an irrational moment he thinks the girl has returned. His head snaps up, eyes seeking—

It is not the servant but Jisoo who glides through the door.

He carries a tray of food and wine, performing with impossible grace a task far below his station. He nudges the door closed with the press of a hip, and it swings shut forcefully enough to latch.

"Good morning," Seungcheol says tiredly. "By all means, do come on. Don't worry about knocking, no one else does."

"Don't be an infant," Jisoo retorts, but the words lack their usual bite.

He's treading carefully and pretending not to as he approaches and sets the tray beside the water basin.

"I'm not hungry." Seungcheol turns from the food, not relishing the way the sight of it makes his stomach curl and growl. But Jisoo catches his arm, and though he hasn't the strength to bully him into doing what he wants, Seungcheol allows himself to be dragged back to the table.

"You've done nothing but drink for days," He reminds him, letting go of his arm and raising his chin higher. "You need to eat something." His voice is softer now, and he urges him to sit before the tray.

Seungcheol  _is_  hungry, he realizes, feeling an utter fool.

He is famished. His stomach still roils, but now there is something of desperation in it, and he turns his attention to the heavily laden dishes.

Jisoo is silent as Seungcheol methodically consumes every morsel on the tray, but when he reaches for the wine goblet, he stops him with a hand on his wrist.

"Seungcheol," Jisoo says, using his name for the first time since entering the prince's chambers. Jisoo’s tone carries a weight that suggests something unpleasant needs to be discussed. He pauses with obvious reluctance, and Seungcheol's hackles rise.

"What is it?" Seungcheol demands, raising the glass in his hand.

Jisoo’s touch falls aside, watching him raise the wine to his lips and take a long, slow swallow.

"I have compiled a list of suitable mates," Jisoo says softly, "Pre-approved by your mother and father.”

Seungcheol's blood runs instantly cold. He knew, of course; knew that this was coming.

“Okay. Let’s hear it.” Seungcheol says, draining the rest of his wine in one gulp.

“There’s the Baronesses’ youngest daughter—” Jisoo begins.

“Fine. She’ll do.” Seungcheol interrupts, setting the goblet down.

Jisoo jerks his head up, eyes narrowing. “Eh—what?”

Seungcheol pushes the empty tray aside and clasps his hands on the table, “I have chosen, set a date, throw a ball—invite people. Do whatever the fuck you want to do. I’ll marry her.”

Jisoo stares at him for a minute, a slack-jawed, doe-eyed look of confusion on his face. “She’s just the first name on the list—surely you’d want to consider all the options first.”

Seungcheol barks a broken sound, too hurt to be a laugh, and a furious grimace twists his features. “No—I really don’t. Whoever they are—they’ll be nothing compared to what I could have had. But I have no choice. I’ll let you have the pleasure of informing my parents.”

“Seungcheol,” Jisoo sets a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and Seungcheol tries not to flinch beneath it. “This is the person you’re going to _marry_. You’re going to spend the rest of your life with. Treat the decision more seriously—I _beg_ you.”

“Jisoo—enough!” Seungcheol snaps. His ire flashes hot, but quickly cools, because he understands that Jisoo is only persisting out of concern for him.

He reaches for the nearly empty jug of wine, ignoring the burn behind his eyes. His hand trembles almost imperceptibly as he pours, the result of wrought emotion and strain his body has been through in the past few weeks.

He sets the empty jug aside with a heavy thunk, but doesn't meet Jisoo's eyes when he speaks.

“I know you are concerned. But I have given up caring about such things. I will marry whoever they want me to. I don’t care anymore.”

Jisoo’s lips purse in that way they did when he really, really wants to say something. Something possibly treasonous. “As you wish your highness.” He says instead, voice tight.

Jisoo stands from the table and bows, giving Seungcheol’s arm a reassuring pat as he passes, which makes him feel not even a little bit better.

* * *

 

After nearly two months in the royal household, Woozi knows the castle intimately. In fact, he has familiarised himself with its winding staircases and endless rooms so _well,_ that Soonyoung now sends him on errands throughout the castle. He delivers draughts and medicines, collects vital herbs from the gardens and communicates with the other servants on Soonyoung’s behalf.

Soon enough, he begins to know everyone by name; from the Scroll master, to the head of the Royal Guard, the head valet and the kitchen maids. Even the Kind and Queen.

Everyone.

Everyone except—the Prince.

The Crown Prince’s wing—unfavourably known as ‘The Lion’s Den’—is the one section of the Castle Woozi dares not enter.

He’s never met the man—never set eyes on him, but he’s heard _plenty_ from the other servants. By the sounds of it, the Prince is a right royal brat. He’s spoilt and lazy, prone to mercurial mood swings that have half the palace fleeing from his shadow.

Woozi has an overwhelmingly low opinion of him in general and he'd rather not meet him in person. Though he suspects that's probably more a desperate hope than a firm vow.

Woozi’s at work now, chopping some spindle-root for a cleansing tonic when The Prince’s advisor comes rushing into the room, closing the door and slumping against it.

“Wonu,” Jisoo begins voice thin and rushed with panic. “Please tell me you have--”

“Of course.” Soonyoung interjects, raising a placating palm. “The tonic is almost ready. I knew today would be particularly _trying_ for him. I was there when the King dismissed him from the room. He did _not_ look happy.”

Jisoo covers his face with his hand. “I don’t know what to do,” he says, muffled against his palm, “Perhaps you can make a whole batch of tonic—I feel like we’re going to need them this week.” He adds, his half-smile belied by the intensity of his expression.

“Yes, I’ve already put Woozi to work.” Soonyoung says, and Woozi smiles, awkwardly under his gesturing. “He’s preparing commercial quantities of spindle-root as we speak.”

“Ah, yes—your new assistant. How have you been settling in?” Jisoo asks him.

“Very well, thank you.” Woozi smiles, awkwardly curtseying. He’s still getting the hang of that.

“He’s been very helpful.” Soonyoung chimes in, not looking away from his book.

“Good—and perhaps you will see that the tonic is delivered to the Prince when it is finished?” Jisoo asks hopefully.

Soonyoung glances up briefly from his work to offer him a sympathetic smile. “Have you been banned from his highnesses Chambers again?”

Jisoo huffs a displeased sound, but admits, “Yes, he has dismissed me. Until such time as I am _‘less Jisoo’_ —whatever _that_ means.” Jisoo says, dour and irritated. “I was only trying to go through the guest list for the banquet with him. But I suppose I should expect as much—you know how he feels about balls.”

Woozi wants to ask what a ‘Banquet’ is, but now’s probably not the time. He mentally adds it to his list of words to ask Soonyoung about later.  

“Don’t worry Jisoo, we’ll have it delivered when it’s complete.” Soonyoung assures.

“Great. If you’ll excuse me—I have to go speak with the kitchen staff.” Jisoo says with great concentration, and then strides out without another word.

Woozi continues grinding the spindle-root until it forms a fine powder. He adds some warm filtered water next, mixing it steadily until it forms a smooth paste, then tops it up with honey to conceal some bitterness and sets it aside to cool.

When he glances up, Soonyoung is busy stabilizing a new potion. He’s distracted enough trying to keep the bubbling constant that Woozi is fairly certain he won’t remember anything they discuss.

“Why does the Prince need so much of this?” He asks.

“Because he drinks a lot.” Soonyoung says, eyes scanning the shelves for a vial. He grabs one and turns to sprinkle something purple into the mixture, followed by a quick dive as the pot spits out a sizzling green jet in return.

Woozi raises an eyebrow, querying. “Why does he drink so much?” He says, fetching a rag to clean the spill.

Soonyoung huffs a displeased sound, but admits, “I—honestly don’t know.” He says, expression turning grim.

He takes off his glasses and cleans them on the front of his robe, looking thoughtful. He’s not even looking at Woozi, but Woozi can see there is nothing but heartbroken worry in his eyes.

“He’s—angry about something. Has been for some time, and I expect it will get worse once he’s actually married. I can’t help but feel sorry for his future mate.” he says quietly and there's so much underneath that for all that it sounds like a joke.

Woozi bites his lip and hums thoughtfully. “If he doesn’t wish to get married, why should he?”

Soonyoung is startled enough to meet his gaze.

“Because he is _Prince_. He is heir to the throne, and one of his duties is to secure the _next_ heir to the throne and assure the continuation of the royal bloodline. You are kind to feel sympathy for him Woozi, but he has had many chances to pick a mate to his liking, and he’s turned many away. I suspect this upcoming ball will be his final as a _single man_ , as I am told the King will announce his choice of suitor.” Soonyoung explains with a firm nod.

He frowns then and shakes his head—like perhaps he’s said too much.

“Is the tonic ready?” He deflects quickly, gesturing at the small cooling pot.

“Oh, yeah.” Woozi clumsily pours the mixture into four empty vials and stoppers them.

Soonyoung looks particularly uncomfortable now, wearing the face he makes when there is an unpleasant duty to attend to. “I guess I should make my way to the Prince’s chambers—oh, but wait. I almost forgot. The queen’s doctor has requested a vial of thistle-milk. It really shouldn’t be delayed.”

“Do you want me to mix it?”

“It’s a little tricky to mix properly,” Soonyoung decides after a moment of careful thought. “Probably best I do this one myself and consult the recipe.”

He’s pretending to be too busy reading something on the scroll to look Jihoon in the eye, and his tone is a little  _too_  casual.

Woozi knows exactly what’s coming next.

“Will you please deliver this to the Princes Chambers?” Soonyoung asks not a moment later, still avoiding Woozi’s gaze while he gathers his medicine vials and supplies on the table. “You know where they are, don’t you? Of course, you do—you know the palace like the back of your hand now.”

Woozi rolls his eyes.

“Yes, _I do._ But that doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re sending me because you’re too _afraid_ to face the Prince yourself.” He says, knowing he's interpreted the look correctly when Soonyoung winces. “How _thoughtful_ of you—sending your apprentice into the Lion’s den.”

Soonyoung winces again, then quickly gives him an admonishing look. “I am not—I am very busy as you can see.” He says, gesturing pointedly to his scroll. “Besides, Seungcheol would never harm anyone unjustly, despite his bad temper—he never strikes the servants.”

Soonyoung is clearly trying to tailor his words into a confident assertion, but they rise in pitch at the end, making a question out of the statement.

“You don’t sound so sure of that.” Woozi drawls.

Soonyoung, now at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “You’ll be quite safe if you just deliver the vial to the guard at his chamber door.”

* * *

 

There is only one guard outside the Prince’s chambers, Mingyu, who sees Woozi approach and stands aside to let him through.

Woozi hesitates at the entrance, lifts the vial towards Mingyu. “I was instructed to bring this for the Prince.”

“Well—in you go then.” Mingyu hesitantly informs him, looking stiff and uncomfortable.

Woozi hopes he is wearing a good incredulous expression. “Surely you don’t expect me to go in? I don’t think I’m permitted to set foot in the Prince’s chambers. I am but a lowly apprentice.”

Mingyu gives a quiet amused laugh and shakes his head. “Nice try. I’m not doing it—he’s in a foul mood, and last I checked he was tearing his room apart searching for Larry. He got of his cage somehow.”

“Who’s Larry?”

“His advisor.”

“I thought Jisoo was his advisor?”

Mingyu scoffs. “That’s what Jisoo likes to think. Larry’s the brains of the operation. He’s a tactical _genius_. He bested me in chess once.”

Woozi squares his shoulders and continues in. The door creaks quietly as he steps through, then clicks loudly shut behind him.

The first thing he notices is the large glass box dwarfing the cabinet, with a single lobster inside. The lobster appears to be wearing what only can be described as—a _sash_. Woozi isn’t sure whether he should bow respectfully to the esteemed lobster or ignore it—Soonyoung didn’t warn him about this.

He spares a glance instead for the shattered chaos of the chambers. There are cushions all over the floor, splintered furniture and wrinkled paper and crushed glass underfoot, rust-coloured stains marking where wine pooled lazily on the marble tiles.

A fire burns low in the enormous hearth, but offers little heat in the Prince’s chamber with all the windows wide open. The fire offers just enough light to see, and Woozi’s eyes search out the Prince in the enormous room.

The prince sits on the only undamaged chair in the room, glaring out the open balcony at the ocean, insensible to the chilly air blowing through it. It is towards this dark cloud of a man that Woozi moves, duty outweighing the voice of caution in his head.

The Prince’s attention is clearly engrossed by the view outside his balcony, and startles when Woozi speaks.

“Your highness?”

“What is it now?” The Prince growls out. He sounds like he’s been gargling broken glass.

Woozi obediently steps forward. “The tonic—you requested.”

The Prince swings his hand out to reveal a cup filled with wine the sloshes over the edge. “Pour.” He orders quietly, head tipped down, eyes dark.

Woozi blinks at the request, then quickly fumbles with the stopper. He pops the vial open and pours it into the cup.

The Prince lifts his arm and downs the contents in one go, “Eugh—foul. What do you guys put in this shit? _Actual_ shit?” He spits, empty cup clattering back to the table. 

Woozi tries to curtail his glower and affect a more reasonable expression, but heir to the throne or not, there is no reason to act like a completely uncivilized person.

“You _are_ meant to sip it.” Woozi says dryly, and feels rather proud of himself for it.

“Don’t tell me what to—” The prince turns his head and falls still.

Woozi braces himself, but he can find no censure in the Prince’s eyes, no furious anger.

There's something quiet and sad that's almost worse, and Woozi doesn't know what to make of it.

He gasps when the Prince's hand touches his arm. He inhales sharply when he realizes the man’s eyes are open and staring straight at him, burning into him with the intensity of fire.

“Jihoonie? It’s—you.” The Prince says. He sounds helpless, and his eyes are alarmingly wide.

Woozi looks at him, slow and still.  “My name is Woozi.”

“What?” A quizzical look creases the Prince’s brow and turns his mouth down at the corners. “No—no. _Jihoon_. You’re Jihoon, my _Jihoonie_.” He says softly.

The awe in his voice makes Woozi uncomfortable, and Woozi shakes his head with rueful self-deprecation.

“No—I’m—“ Woozi hesitates, telling himself to step away and instead staying exactly where he is. He doesn't protest when the Prince steps too close and peers into his eyes, like he's trying to understand more than Woozi is willing to say.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. What are you _doing_ here?” The Prince says, and Woozi doesn’t understand why he sounds so angry, like Woozi’s done something to hurt him. 

He doesn’t know how to _answer_ him.

“Forgive me your highness—I have overstepped. I should leave.” Woozi mumbles, bowing respectfully.

Unexpectedly, this makes Seungcheol frown. “Your _highness_? What the hell? You’ve never called me that once.”

The fingers around Woozi's arm tighten uncomfortably, like a warning. The roughness of the touch ignites something like fear beneath Woozi's skin, but also a confusing heat.

Seungcheol is in his space now; a broad, entitled presence, standing too close, as though he has every right to do so—every right to  _Woozi_ —and Woozi needs to find his voice so he can tell Seungcheol otherwise.

Instead he stands frozen, and when the weight of Seungcheol's stare is too much, Woozi drops his gaze to the floor. It's all he can do to work air in and out of his lungs.

His chest feels hot and tight, as something familiar coils inside him. He doesn't resist when Seungcheol’s fingers curl beneath his chin like a command, and Seungcheol forces Woozi to meet his eyes.

“I’m Seungcheol. _Cheol_. Don’t you remember me?”

“I’m s-sorry—I don’t remember a lot of things.” Woozi says, heedless of the slight catch in his voice.

He reacts without thought, twisting free and keeping his back to Seungcheol as he darts away. He needs to put some distance between them so that he can _think_.

But he doesn't get far before Seungcheol grabs him again, firm grip reclaiming Woozi's arm and yanking him around.

Woozi is already bracing himself for a fight, but the look on Seungcheol's face knocks the wind right out of him.

Woozi expected— He's honestly not sure  _what_  he expected. But the look on the Prince's face stops him cold. A shadow of unmasked desperation darkens the prince's features and freezes Woozi's instinctive retreat as he meets Seungcheol's eyes, and suddenly can't breathe.

“What do you _mean_?” says Seungcheol, and his voice is strained; rough with something Woozi can’t name. “You—you don’t remember me?”

Woozi swallows and tries to turn aside.

“I’m sorry, I don-“

The prince covers Woozi's mouth with his hand, startling him to silence. There's something painful and desperate in Seungcheol's eyes, as though the last thing he wants is for Woozi to finish whatever he was about to say.

They stand too long like that, quiet and lost together. Then Seungcheol’s hands fall, awkward and uncertain, to Woozi’s waist, but his grip is tight through three layers of fabric, strong and certain like they _belong_ there.

“I thought I’d lost you forever.” Seungcheol says, lips brushing Woozi's ear with the softest murmur.

“Your highness,” Jihoon tries. He tries to look and sound confident and is very nearly successful. “I really have to go. Maester Kwon needs my help.”

“No, please. _Stay_.” Seungcheol pleads, reeling him into a hug.

There's the briefest moment of panic and disorientation. Woozi tenses, straining away–

And he's held still, kept forcibly calm by the strong arms that slip up and around to hold him close.

Woozi is stiff and awkward, for just a second, before he exhales, slowly, quietly, and relaxes into Seungcheol's grip.

He was cold from the new night chill, but now he’s burning up where their bodies touch. For the first time since he awoke with no memories, he feels safe and protected, and he's pretty sure he never wants to move again. Gradually he feels his body going lax, giving into gravity until Seungcheol’s arms around his waist are all that's holding him from melting into the floor in a puddle.

With his other hand, Seungcheol touches the back of his head – not grabbing or pulling, just running his fingers through Woozi's hair.

"I found you." Seungcheol whispers, nuzzling at Woozi's throat. "It's all right. I found you."

Woozi looks up at him, through his eyelashes, (His eyes have slid half-shut. When did that happen?) and hums something noncommittal. He's already given up on keeping his eyes open. If he opens his mouth now, he has no idea of what might come out.

“Your highness?” a voice calls from the doorway.

Woozi’s eyes snap open to find Jisoo, the Prince’s advisor, faltering in the doorway.

Seungcheol doesn’t release him immediately like Woozi expects, he doesn’t shove him away or startle backwards in surprise. He merely lifts his head from where it’s tucked in the bend of Woozi’s neck and levels his advisor a bored look.

“Yes? What is it?”

Jisoo wrinkles his nose in confusion. “You moods are certainly mercurial Seungcheol. One minute you’re banishing everyone from your presence, the next you’re hugging the life out of Maester Kwon’s apprentice.”

Seungcheol brushes his fingertips down Woozi's spine in a worshipful touch. "This is Jihoon." he mutters against Woozi's temple.

Jisoo raises a surprised brow in answer. “I’m pretty sure his name is Woozi.”

“No, it’s not. It’s Jihoon.” Seungcheol denies tightly, heavy emphasis on each word.

“So we’re changing people’s names now. Great. What’s my new name?” Fondness creeps into Jisoo's tone despite a determined effort to remain cool. 

“You’re still Jisoo— _unfortunately_.” Seungcheol says dryly, and Jisoo snorts disbelief.

“Okay, Seungcheol. You’ve had your fun. I think you should let Woozi go, he has to get back to his work.”

Seungcheol is quick to huff and protest, “No. He stays here with me. I love him.”  

Woozi’s head snaps up, his gaze quick and sharp and locking on Seungcheol’s with open surprise.

There is something unmistakably possessive in Seungcheol's expression, and Woozi's blood thrills at the sight.

It's dangerous to want this, but he can't help it when Seungcheol is looking at him like that.

The Prince hesitates, as though his brain is just now catching up to his mouth, and then continues more softly, “I’m going to marry him.”

The blunt declaration snaps through Woozi like a blow, and he jolts beneath Seungcheol's touch.

“What?! Are you out of your _mind_?” Jisoo gapes, eyes widening in a way that would be comical if it weren't twisting Woozi's heart unpleasantly in his chest. “You can’t marry a—” But Jisoo stops short, mouth closing and lips thinning in disapproval. “Okay— _someone’s_ clearly had a little too much to drink. I think it’s time you excused Woozi and got to bed.”

Seungcheol's expression burns pointedly, chin cocking in defiance as she meets his advisor’s eyes. “He stays here. _With me.”_

Jisoo heaves a put-upon sigh and deliberately levels a tired look at his stubborn prince.  “Seungcheol—" He begins, taking a step closer.

Seungcheol reacts immediately, taking two steps back and tugging Woozi with him. He cements his grip around Woozi’s waist, holding him protectively as if Jisoo had planned to launch an attack of sorts.

Jisoo doesn't seem to be planning any sort of attack. Jisoo, in fact, is staring at him, startled and a little bit aghast. “Seungcheol. Let him go—you’re scaring him.”

“No, I’m—not.” Seungcheol snaps, dragging Woozi against him and turning his head to look down at him. “I’m not…..Am I?”

A guilty pause echoes through the room.

Woozi’s not sure what shows on his face, but it must be bad because the prince visibly deflates.

Woozi forces himself not to look away, and eventually Seungcheol's gaze drops.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you.” Seungcheol mumbles, and he sounds — sad, now; no longer angry so much as resigned. Which just sets a whole new flavour of guilt blooming behind Woozi's ribs, especially when he feels Seungcheol release him.  

Jisoo takes the opportunity to lunge forward and yank Woozi away from the Prince’s lax hold, pulling him forward.

“Thank you Woozi for your services, you may go now. I’m sure when the Prince is sober he will be fit to apologise for manhandling you.” Jisoo dismisses him kindly, and Woozi bows as he escapes the Prince’s chambers.

At the door, he throws a final look over his shoulder and finds Seungcheol watching him.

The flash of disappointment in his eyes is _heart-wrenching._

* * *

 

Woozi should be relieved to be returning to his room.

That incident with the prince confused and scared him, but his pace falls slower as he approaches Soonyoung's workshop, and eventually, he has to admit that he is delaying on purpose.

The problem is the raw tangle of confused emotions in Woozi's chest.

The unfamiliar burn in his legs isn’t helping, nor is the memory of Seungcheol's expression as Woozi took his leave. He shouldn't have glanced back over his shoulder; the wrecked, exhausted look on Seungcheol's face made it almost impossible to leave, and all Woozi wants to do is turn around and storm straight back to the Prince's chambers.

He can't explain his desperation, but it's there, tangled up in all the warmth and hurt and worry.

“Oh, good. You’re back.” Soonyoung says, when Woozi returns to the workshop. “Do you mind cutting some more spindle-root. I’ve used up most of it already.”

Soonyoung’s beside his work bench at the far end of the room, tending to a long glass tube over a tiny flame, his attention clearly engrossed by his task.

He startles when Woozi speaks.

“I don’t feel well.”

Soonyoung finally glances up, worry marring his brow. “What?—What happened?”

“N-nothing.” Woozi's hesitation lasts barely an instant, but Soonyoung probably notices. “I’m going to go lie down.”

* * *

 

Seungcheol tries to keep his eagerness hidden, but cannot quite see the point of doing so.

“How long has he been in the palace for?”

It's an irritated drag of minutes before Jisoo responds, air strained with agitation.

“I don’t know. And it hardly matters Seungcheol, now please drink this. We need to flush some of that alcohol out of your system if you are to be productive in the morning.” He says, holding a goblet of water pointedly. Seungcheol ignores him, watching, quietly expectant, until finally Jisoo continues, “I don’t know—a month or so. Maybe more.”

Seungcheol frowns but accepts the water, drinking it quickly and tossing the empty goblet over his shoulder.

Jisoo raises one eye at him in calculated disapproval, but Seungcheol isn't cowed.

“And how did he get here, where did he come from?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been so busy managing your mercurial moods to notice the comings and goings of the servants. You’ll have to ask Soonyoung, he’s the one who employed him.”

Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose with tense fingers. “You’re a nosy shit Jisoo, but never when it’s useful.”

Jisoo offers him a withering look, then starts helping Seungcheol out of his finery and turning down the bedcovers. He waits patiently until Seungcheol climbs into the bed before he begins extinguishing the candles until only one candle remains, burning at the bedside.

“You were out of line tonight Seungcheol. I hope you realise that.” Jisoo says softly, sounding more serious than Seungcheol expects.

Seungcheol raises his eyes and finds Jisoo peering at him from the foot of the bed with a sombre, piercing expression. 

“Making drunken declarations of love and promises of marriage to a _servant_. Honestly! I’m glad it was me who walked in on you and not your father.”

Seungcheol debates the merits of pointing out he’s really not that drunk—but accepts that won’t do much to help the situation. He needs to act and speak carefully in order to allay Jisoo’s suspicions.

“You’re right—I should apologise.” Seungcheol makes himself smile, makes his tone light, and even uncurls his posture to look Jisoo directly in the eye.

He won't be able to convince Jisoo he's all right so easily, but maybe he can ease a fraction of the worry from his friend’s face.

“Yes, you should.” Jisoo says, already sounding more hopeful. “Write a letter in the morning and I’ll have it delivered. But make no mention of marriage or love or whatever you promised that boy when you write. Hopefully he’ll have forgotten your ridiculous drunken declarations and not mention it to the other servants. We don’t need the rumour mill running with the banquet almost upon us.”

“A letter?” Seungcheol scoffs. “He can’t _read_.”

Jisoo's frowns uncertainly then, but it just as quickly turns into an expression of accusation. “And how would _you_ know that? Stop pretending like he’s some long-lost love—you just met him. Besides, he must be able to read if he’s helping Soonyoung mix tonics.”

Seungcheol sighs and shifts more comfortably on the bed.

“I’ll apologise to him Jisoo. In my _own_ way.” He says, simply and sombrely.

Confusion knits Jisoo's brow, and scepticism colours his voice. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

Seungcheol huffs a quiet laugh and rolls on his side. “Good night Jisoo.”

Jisoo grumbles quietly for a moment longer before stepping away. “Good night your highness.”

Seungcheol waits until he hears the quiet click of the doors to the chamber shutting, before sitting upright in his bed to stare out the window, at the path laid out upon the glass-smooth waters by the full moon.

He thinks about Jihoon, in the darkness of his room, with the final trails of smoke drifting upwards from the candles. He thinks about the defiant curve of Jihoon's mouth, when he teases him, how his chin tilts up, sharp and disrespectful when he speaks. Subservience doesn't suit him—will never suit him.

This _Woozi_ however, is quiet, mild, respectful— _tame_. But he has the same dark curious eyes and beautifully severe face, and Seungcheol knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is _his_ Jihoon.

Seungcheol knows it in his heart of hearts, and so will find a way to bring his Jihoon to the surface once more.  

 

* * *

 

That night, Woozi dreams of the sea. The walls and turrets of the palace disappear behind him as he swims effortlessly, impossibly through the white capped waves. But on the shore there is a figure watching his retreat; a tall, broad man waving at him just before he dives under the water. 

 _Seungcheol_.

Woozi wakes in a cold sweat and sits up so quickly his head spins. In that moment his legs ache; a maddening burning sensation that forces him to gasp and curl his toes.

Even knowing it's a simple dream, he can't return to sleep. A lingering sense of loss clings to him, twisting him up inside and making it difficult to breathe.

The cool sea breeze blowing through the window helps calm him considerably, but he can't stop worrying at the useless patches of not-quite-memory in his head, like a scab or a toothache or the piece of thread fraying loose from his sleeve.

He resents  _all_  the things he can't remember, but what's really driving him insane is  _Seungcheol_. Seungcheol, whose name rang clear in his head the first time he heard it, whose face, and touch and scent is somehow familiar.

Woozi wants to know _why_ he dreams of him—why Seungcheol thinks he’s someone else. Amidst all the missing pieces, Seungcheol is familiar in a way that speaks of comfort and closeness well beyond casual acquaintance.

With sleep out of the question, Woozi rises instead, dressing with stiff movements, telling himself he can get an early start on the day’s work.

He's halfway through sorting and hanging herbs to dry from the workroom ceiling when there’s a knock on the door.

Answering it, he finds the Prince’s guard standing there, hands clasped behind his back.

“Uh—Maester Kwon is still sleeping, but I can wake—"

“No need.” Mingyu waves him off, smiling winningly. “It’s you I need to see anyway. The Prince wishes to extend an apology to you, for his behaviour last night.”

“Oh. Okay.” Woozi says, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. This is _unexpected_. “Apology accepted.”

 _“In person.”_ Mingyu interrupts, stepping aside and holding the door open. He jerks his head in a ‘come along’ gesture.

“What? Now?” Woozi gasps.

This is certainly unexpected.

“Yes, now.” Mingyu drops a broad wink that Woozi somehow finds unsettling. “He wishes for you join him for breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG.   
> 2) I've been busy writing other fics and this just got neglected. But I promise more regular updates :)  
> 3) Apologies if you were expecting some more magical fish hole coitus in this chapter, but the story is far from over so....  
> 4) I can't shake the image of Merhoon staring down at his dick and not knowing what it is and yelling at it to go away. I had to include that somewhere XD  
> 5) Anyway, hope you enjoyed the belated update if you're still reading this. Thank you for reading fam! Feedback always appreciated!


	8. His spirit soars northward

“I haven’t informed Master Kwon of my absence!” Woozi protests.

Which isn't the easiest of tasks when Mingyu is dragging him along the corridors of Palace, shushing him every time someone comes within range of his indignation.

Mingyu stops and puts his hands on his hips. “What are you so worried about? It’s just Seungcheol. Forget what you’ve heard about him—I’ve known him all my life, he doesn’t bite, okay. He’s actually a really nice guy _and_ appears to be rather taken by you. You should be flattered.”

Woozi sighs.

 _Yes, I know. The Prince seemed very taken by me last night when he held me in his arms and promised to fucking marry me_ —He doesn’t say.

“It’s just—Maester Soonyoung will wonder where I’ve gone.” Woozi says pathetically. “I usually wake up early to light the hearth and scrape out the cauldron.”

Mingyu sets to dragging him again, though Woozi seems to be in danger of caving, what with his letting himself be dragged along. He didn’t think of himself as a 'letting himself be dragged' kind of person before.

“Don’t worry. The Prince has pardoned you from your regular duties this morning. I will inform the Maester of your absence.”

“But—” Woozi is about to protest something else, possibly just as some sort of desperate stalling tactic. But Mingyu claps him hard on both shoulders and pushes him inside the Prince’s chambers.

* * *

 

Woozi’s not sure what he was expecting when he entered the Prince’s quarters—but it’s not this:  the sight and smell of a huge breakfast banquet, and a Prince—fussing over the platters laid out on the table.

“Uhh…Your highness?”

When Seungcheol finally raises his eyes to Woozi, the awe on the Prince’s face is palpable.

Woozi has to briefly check his reflection in the window, to make sure he hadn't actually grown an extra head overnight.

He hasn’t. But the Prince is still giving him that _look_ and now, he is starting to feel horribly self-conscious.

They stare at each other quietly for a moment, until the Prince gestures at the table.

“Please—come, sit.” He says, pulling out a chair for him.

Woozi hesitates, then complies. It really wouldn’t do to ignore a direct command, even a polite one.

The table is heavily laden with the kitchen’s finest, more than enough for a dozen people or more. There are eggs, bacon, porridge, various vegetables and bread platters that look so soft and fresh that it makes Woozi’s mouth water and his stomach gurgle embarrassingly.

“Well don’t just _sit_ there—” The Prince laughs, dropping a linen napkin onto his lap. “Eat something.”

Woozi considers the other man for a moment, already piling bread and meat onto his plate with gusto, then looks down at the food.

He’s an apprentice….having breakfast…with the Crown Prince….in his chambers.

 _Yeah_ , this might be one of oddest situations he’s ever faced, but—dammit, he’s _hungry_. And he’s sure things will begin to make more sense once he quiets his stomach.

Obediently, he fills his plate and begins eating.

It doesn’t make this less weird of course, but it’s harder to care with Seungcheol’s pleased eyes on him and his stomach pleasantly filled.

He almost manages to clear his plate before the Prince interrupts him with a question.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.” Woozi answers automatically.

The Prince pauses midway through tearing a loaf of bread in half. He Considers Woozi with a heavy stare that leaves him fidgety and uncomfortable and wondering just how ragged he looks.

“You’re lying.” Seungcheol finally says, “You’re tired, I can tell. You probably haven’t slept well since you arrived in the palace.”

Woozi is startled at the certainty in his voice—the same certainty in which he declared his undying love for him last night.

He certainly  _feels_  exhausted, wrung out physically in a way he didn't notice until now. And in truth—he _hasn’t_ been sleeping well. Even when he doesn’t dream, he manages a paltry four hours of sleep a night while Soonyoung snores in the next room for _eight_.

But how does Seungcheol know this?

“I imagine the blankets must feel strange against your skin.” Seungcheol continues undeterred. He sits back so he can stare down at Woozi clothes—at the way Woozi's shirt is hanging on his frame.

“Your clothes must irritate you too. Especially this rough cotton you’re wearing. You should be swathed in the finest silks and satins instead—something cool and flowing to the touch. I will have the Royal tailor fashion you a fitting garment. You look good in blue.”

_How would you know?_

“I am perfectly happy with my bed. And my clothes.” Woozi answer quietly. He feels inexplicably sheepish, sitting here in his drab attire while the Prince reclines in all his finery.

The Prince watches him for a moment, quiet and inscrutable. Woozi half expects him to declare his undying love again, but then his expression softens, a warm smile breaking over his face.

“As you wish.”

Reaching for the jug at his side, the Prince pours out two goblets full of dark, red wine and hands one to Woozi. 

Woozi accepts the handoff and takes a heady gulp, not sure what to say into the suddenly resounding silence.

The Prince raises his own glass in salute and takes a sip.

“So, tell me something about yourself— _Woozi_.” He breezes at last, setting aside his mostly full glass and leaning a casual elbow on the table-top.

Woozi searches his brain, suddenly desperate for something interesting to say about himself, but it’s a fruitless quest.

He spends his days in Soonyoung’s workshop, grinding roots into fine powders, and his evenings roaming the castle, delivering tonics. He doesn’t have any witty anecdotes about his life—he hardly remembers most of it actually.

He’s  _boring_.

And normally, his boringness is obviousness enough to his conversational partners. It’s all up top, all out in the open. No one ever has to  _ask_  to have it confirmed: they can see it well enough themselves.

The Prince must see his hesitation, and mercifully deflects.

“How long have you been Maester Kwon’s apprentice?”

Woozi clears his throat to answer. “A little over a month.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Woozi’s head bobs in agreement. “Yes, very much so.”

“And what did you do _before_ that?” The Prince asks, pinning him with a _look_.

Woozi tenses.

Soonyoung has encouraged him to lie about the gaps in his past, because the truth would only lead to fear and suspicion. So they’d created a believable backstory together, one that Woozi could depend upon to shield himself from curious questions. He uses it now.

“I worked alongside my father. On a farm.”

“A farm?” Seungcheol peers at him soberly, and Woozi waits. “Interesting. You must have seen quite a few animals then.”

Woozi looked down at his plate, and then back up at Seungcheol's steady gaze “I did, yes.”

“Hmm. Tell me—what was your favourite animal on your _father’s farm_?”

Woozi swallows with difficulty.

So much for a reliable backstory!

They haven’t gotten this far in fabricating the details, so he would have to improvise to the best of his abilities. He’s still finding his feet in the world, still learning strange new words and names for things, and the only animal he can think of right now is….

“Uhm. A _lion_?”

The Prince raises an eyebrow at him. “Your father. Had a lion. On his farm?”

Woozi nods seriously.

He’s never been on a farm—or seen a lion for that matter. But the Royal family seem quite taken with lions, and have them etched on every banner, flag and seal in the palace. So it would stand to reason that there are plentiful lions in the Kingdom, frolicking in the fields amongst the horses.

Dammit—why didn’t he just say _horses_?

“And what did you feed this _lion_ on your father’s farm?” The Prince asks dryly.

“Bread.” Woozi blurts out. He spares a glance at his half-eaten plate, then adds. “And _cheese_.”

Apparently he doesn't win a prize for guessing right.

“I _see_.” Seungcheol drawls. There's a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and he arches his eyebrows again. “And did you ride on the Lion’s back across the fields, and let him sleep in your bed at night for warmth?”

“Of course!” Woozi says agreeably—because why not.

The Prince purses his lips and turns to stare out the window.

Woozi can’t see his face from this angle, but Seungcheol’s shoulders are shaking and Woozi _thinks_ he might be…. _laughing_?

Oh god! He is.

He’s _laughing_.

His fists are clenched tightly and he’s shaking silently with laughter.

Woozi instantly starts to fidget, and it takes every ounce of self-control to make himself still and not cross his arms over his chest. He’s certain he’s done an awful job concealing the obvious gaps in his history, but when Seungcheol turns his head back around, there’s only quiet amusement on his face.

“That’s uhm—some story. Did Soonyoung help you make it up?” He says, a teasing twist to his mouth.

Woozi feels his face flush hot. He starts to apologize, embarrassed and more than a little afraid. “I’m sorry. I—"

“Hey—hey. _Don’t_ —” Seungcheol says, reaching out to cup Woozi’s cheek. He looks into his eyes as if he’s making very sure Woozi is listening. “I’m not angry, okay. It was a good story—I enjoyed it. Maybe just pick a different animal next time you tell it to someone. Lion’s don’t live on farms, and you can’t cuddle with one unless you’re hoping for a terrible mauling.”

Woozi pouts.

Why didn’t he pick horses?

Why didn’t he have a reliable backstory that stood against the scrutiny of a few questions?

Seungcheol notices him pouting and frowns.

“Look—I have something to cheer you up.” He says, lifting the lid on a covered tray to reveal a bowl full of…

“ _Strawberries_!” Woozi gasps, the sight and smell of which are strangely and incredibly familiar.

Seungcheol grins. “Yes. You like them, don’t you?”

“Yes. I mean—” Woozi's brow crinkles in confusion. An impatient urge to grab one shivers beneath his skin, “I think I do.”

Seungcheol arches an eyebrow and plucks one strawberry from the bowl.

Instead of offering it to Woozi, instead of letting him eat it at his leisure, Seungcheol holds it up to his lips.

At once, Seungcheol’s meaning comes clear: he wants to _feed_ him.

Woozi wonders if it would be rude to refuse.

He doesn't want to be a bad guest, but he's not entirely comfortable with the way the Prince is looking at him now. There's something questing and curious in those eyes as presses the berry against Woozi’s mouth.

Against his better judgement, Woozi opens his mouth and wraps his lips around the strawberry. He bites into it with a semi-conscious alert flaring up at the back of his mind, a little message he tries not to pay attention to. It's saying something about the way Seungcheol’s knuckles brush against his chin, the way Seungcheol watches him chew with rapt attention. The familiarity of the entire gesture sends a little spark of heat to his chest.

The strawberry is incredibly sweet and juicy, it squirts a little, and Woozi covers his mouth with his hand.

“W-well?” says Seungcheol. He sounds a little dazed, a little off balance. 

When Woozi dares to glance at the Prince’s face again, he’s smiling.

“They’re delicious.” Woozi tells him, sweetly, because it seems important.

Seungcheol sighs happily and brushes a thumb over Woozi's cheekbone.

The door creaks sharply and they both turn to find Jisoo is there, staring down at them, mortified and frozen.

It’s only when the Prince removes his hand from his cheek that it occurs to Woozi that their positions are a _little_ compromising.

This whole  _situation_  is a little compromising, he thinks, face flushing slightly. 

Jisoo already looks poised to protest, and Seungcheol holds up a hand to delay him. 

“At ease Jisoo—I have merely invited _Woozi_ here to join me for breakfast, to apologize for my conduct last night.”

Jisoo snorts, not quite a laugh but close. “What a thoughtful gesture your highness.” His face darkens into a sceptical expression, and he cocks his head to one side. “I do however, hope Woozi is here by his _own_ volition.”

There is a strange, heavy silence, in which Woozi isn't sure whether he’s supposed to say anything or not.

According to Jisoo's eyebrow he  _is_.

He flounders for a moment, glancing back and forth between Jisoo’s piercing look and Seungcheol warm gaze.

“I am.” He says quietly.

Seungcheol beams at him in response. “See. He _wants_ to be here.”

Jisoo is silent. He seems to be genuinely considering that, but there's still a steely look in his eyes, a determined glint that tells Woozi his conversation with the Prince isn't over yet.

Jisoo leans against the table, plucks one of the red-green apples out of the fruit bowl and rolls it in his hands for a long second.

“You won’t mind if I join you for breakfast as well, do you?”

“If you must.” The Prince says with a bored sort of inevitability.

He waves a lazy hand at the empty seat across the table, waits until Jisoo has taken a seat before picking up another strawberry from the bowl.

He offers this one to Woozi too, unconcerned with Jisoo’s presence.

Woozi gives him a quick look that’s, strangely, almost anxious before biting into it. He’s neat, but the strawberry is at its highest, most giddying moment of ripeness and the juice runs down Woozi’s lips and chin.

He hardly has a moment to wipe it away before the Prince is catching the red trail with a thumb and licking it clean.

Woozi flushes all the way to his toes and tries to breathe like a normal person.

He notices Jisoo stiffen palpably from the corner of his eye, and waits for him to say something about it.

Miraculously, Jisoo remains silent—though his lips are pursed in that way that suggests he really, really wants to say something. Perhaps yelling would be involved.

Instead, he waits until they’ve worked their way through half the bowl before interjecting with some bite.

“Enough Seungcheol. Breakfast is over. It’s time we got started on your Princely duties.”

Seungcheol raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t bother looking away from Woozi. “I haven’t finished eating.”

Jisoo sighs out a heavy breath of frustration. “Oh, I think you have. And I think it’s time for Woozi to return to Maester Kwon’s workshop to commence his duties as well. You are dismissed Woozi.”

Fire flashes in the Prince's eyes, but banks quickly.  “Only I have the right to dismiss someone from my chambers.” He growls.

Jisoo look mildly uncomfortable now—like he’s afraid of protesting further, but feels duty bound to.

“Please—your highness.” Woozi interrupts meekly, trying to find a way to make a dignified exit without earning the Prince’s ire. “I really _should_ be returning to the workshop—I have duties to attend to and Master Kwon depends on my assistance.” He says.

He at the very least expected anger for speaking against the Prince’s wishes—and has no idea how to react to the soft, wounded look the Prince gives him instead.

Seungcheol, contrary to expectation, doesn’t argue the point further.

“Alright.” He simply nods and dismisses him gently.

* * *

 

The second the doors shut behind Jihoon, Jisoo rounds on him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, looking at Seungcheol with blade-sharp suspicion.

“Having breakfast.” Seungcheol answers, smiling at his advisor who has turned an impressive shade of puce across the table. He grabs another strawberry from the bowl and tosses it in the air, catching it neatly in his mouth. “You _are_ the one who suggested I apologize for my conduct last night.” He says as he chews.

“And _that’s_ your answer?” Jisoo’s voice is dry with scepticism. He lets a disapproving eye roam over the heavily laden table, over the half empty bowl of strawberries. “Inviting him to your chambers and hand feeding him strawberries?”

Seungcheol pinches another berry between his fingers and shrugs. “He seemed to enjoy it.”

Confused disapproval darkens Jisoo’s features. “Your conduct is improper Seungcheol. You should _not_ be inviting a servant to dine with you in your private chambers.”

“Why not?” Seungcheol says, lifting his chin with a defiant expression, “There’s no rule against it.”

Jisoo grunts, a noncommittal sound that still manages to convey disapproval.

A moment later a different worry dampens his expression.

"What is it?" Seungcheol asks, trepidation making his skin feel tight.

“I hope you’re not considering taking the boy as a consort. He’s certainly pleasing to look at, but with the ball looming so close, it sends the wrong message to your intended suitors Seungcheol. Anyone who accepts your courtship will be in an untenable position, and I am sure your father would disapprove of you bedding a servant.” Jisoo says steadily, a thread of warning woven into his undertone.

Seungcheol adopts his most convincing innocent expression. “All this worry because I invited someone to _breakfast_? Really?”

Jisoo looks sceptical, peering at Seungcheol over the table, “You wanted to marry him last night—or have you forgotten your drunken declarations of love?”

“Well—they _were_ drunken declarations.” Seungcheol lies.

Jisoo shakes his head, looks apologetic for all of a second, then stands. “Yes. I suppose they were.”

He produces the scroll that is Seungcheol’s schedule for the day from behind his cloak and unravels it.

“Come along. We’re running behind schedule already. We are expecting a group of delegates from Finland and you must greet them in your father’s stead.” Jisoo announces over his shoulder, already aiming for the door.

“Fine.” Seungcheol sighs. He tosses his napkin onto the table and stands. “But you must schedule a meeting with the potions Maester at his earliest convenience. I have a few questions for Maester Kwon.”

* * *

 

Seungcheol’s schedule is packed with meetings and rehearsals and fittings for the entirety of the day. So he settles for sending a message to Soonyoung first thing the following morning, summoning him to a private meeting.

It is the first time they have ever had such a meeting and Soonyoung’s probably shitting his pants—a fact of which Seungcheol is acutely aware when Soonyoung arrives looking more nervous than a nun in a cucumber field.

“Y-your h-hig-highness? You w-wished to ss-see me?” Soonyoung says, flustered enough by the new circumstances to resort to formality. There's a darkness to his expression, though, that makes Seungcheol suspect he's running worst case scenarios in his head.

“Soonyoung—please relax. You’re not in trouble.” Seungcheol says, gesturing for Soonyoung to sit beside him at the hearth.

Soonyoung looks perplexed now more than anything—perplexed and worried—but he nods and settles in the armchair across from him.

The silence that settles between them is tense and expectant, until Soonyoung blurts out, “This is about Woozi—isn’t it?”

 “ _Correct_.” Seungcheol smiles and steeples his fingers—then stops himself, because it looks undoubtedly evil.

He settles for resting his hands on the arm-rest in what he hopes is a non-threatening gesture.

“There is somewhat of a mystery surrounding _Woozi’s_ arrival at the palace. I’ve asked around and nobody can give me a straight answer as to _how_ he actually came to be your apprentice. One story tells me he arrived on horseback from the city to the east, injured and seeking gainful employment, another tells me he is a distant cousin of yours and you have offered him work to help his ill begotten parents. I suspect none of these stories are true—and so I have summoned you here to get _your_ version of events.”

Soonyoung visibly thinks it through, mouth pressing into a thin line of concentration, but finally he shakes his head.

“Well, I just—”

“I’d think twice about lying to me Soonyoung.” Seungcheol interjects sharply.

So much for non-threatening—but Seungcheol _knows_ when he’s about to be lied to.

Soonyoung tenses in his seat, surprised and uncertain. He turns a deep red and drops his eyes to survey the floor. “Forgive me your majesty, I did not mean to deceive you, I only wised to protect him. He’s not all there you see—he’s--”

“Suffering from memory loss—I _know_.” Seungcheol confirms with a wave of his hand. “You found him on the beach no doubt, disorientated—possible injured. _Naked_ too.”

Soonyoung stares at him, his brow rutted in conflict. “That’s—that’s right. How did you--”

“Did you give him that name?” Seungcheol talks over him quickly. “Or did he concoct it himself?”

“He picked it out of a book himself.” Soonyoung points out, eyes cutting briefly away but quickly returning to Seungcheol's face. “He couldn’t recall his own, and I thought it important that he have a name.”

Seungcheol nods, quiet comprehension, and says, “Then you offered him a job as your apprentice and concocted a false story to explain his appearance.”

“Yes,” Soonyoung swallows with difficulty. But he squares his shoulders and soldiers on, “I thought a job would provide him with some stability, help him adjust. I had my reservations at first, because he had strange notions about how things worked and lacked basic vocabulary, but he’s proven himself a very capable apprentice. As strange as it may sound—despite his memory loss, he has an excellent memory. He can recite recipes and recall insignificant details, and he speaks a dozen languages or more.”

“Yes, that _is_ pretty impressive—considering he can’t read or write.”

Seungcheol feels a smile threatening at the way the statement makes Soonyoung gape. 

Soonyoung’s blinking at him now, wide-eyed and surprised (and obviously more confused than ever), staring as though he's waiting for the punch-line.

“It’s true—he can’t.” Soonyoung says, watching Seungcheol with probing eyes. His brow wrinkles in consternation. “Forgive me your highness—but how do you know all this?”

Seungcheol tries to keep his face passive, but a low chuckle tumbles from his lips.

He considers his options. He considers trying to make this sound anything less than crazy. Finally he decides his only choice is to dive right in.

“I’m going to share something with you Soonyoung—and I expect it not to leave this room.”

Soonyoung’s already leaning forward in his seat, shoring himself up for whatever information Seungcheol has to impart.

“Okay….”

* * *

 

“ _Seungcheol_ ,” Jisoo’s voice startles him, but Seungcheol gives no outward indication of surprise.

“You’ve been reading that parchment for some time—are you truly focused on the task?” Jisoo asks, sounding as disapproving as usual.

Seungcheol sets down the scroll he has been staring unseeingly at for the past hour and glares at him. 

“Matters of state require scrutiny Jisoo.” He replies fiercely. “I was being _thorough_.”

His bluster is transparent; of course Jisoo sees through it.

“You were _daydreaming_.” Jisoo corrects.

Seungcheol ignores him to set aside his scroll and reach for the next.

He was daydreaming of course—that’s all he does these days, it’s what keeps him sane in these dull moments.  

Even though he only saw Jihoon yesterday—even though he knows his merboy is safe and well in the other side of the palace—every moment Seungcheol spends away from his is so slow it hurts.

One day. It feels like an eternity.

Seungcheol realizes he's being melodramatic, but that doesn't stop him wanting to see Jihoon again.

He waves Mingyu over to an empty side of the room. He tries to keep his demeanour low-key and unremarkable for the constant prying eyes that follow him. Only he’s not sure how successful he is given the arched brow Mingyu gives him.

And damn his hide anyway, Seungcheol’s the one that taught him how to do that.

“Did you need something, your highness?”

Seungcheol drops his voice as low as he can and still be heard. “Yeah. I need a favour.”

Mingyu leans forward, clearly intrigued to see where this is going. “It’s not going to get me arrested, is it?”

“No.” Seungcheol considers that. “Probably not.”

“Executed?”

“No.”

Mingyu tilts his head in thought. “Is it going to piss Jisoo off if he finds out?”

Seungcheol grins, “Oh, yes—absolutely.”

Mingyu grins in answer. “Whatever you need, your highness.”

“Look,” Seungcheol coughs, more nervous than he’s been since he can remember. “There’s a book in the library, about Mythical creatures and monsters. It’s a tattered old thing in a brown leather cover, no discernible text on the front.”

Mingyu squints at him. “The one you were reading a few months ago?”

“The very one.” Seungcheol nods. “I need you to fetch it.”

Mingyu seems confused but not concerned. “Surely there is no need for discretion if you simply wish to re-read a book.”

Seungcheol huffs a sigh. “It’s not _for_ me Mingyu. I need you to take it to the Potion Maester’s apprentice, and inform him that I wish to meet him tomorrow in the palace gardens at noon.” He's speaking the thoughts as they occur to him, but he already knows it's a solid plan. He knows Mingyu would never let him down.

“Ah--” And there’s the light of comprehension and… is that glee? Mingyu looks a little gleeful. “ _Woozi_.”

“Yes—erm—Woozi.” Seungcheol catches himself shuffling his feet. Like a damned schoolboy with a crush. He throws back his shoulders and pretends like this conversation isn’t making him want to crawl into a hole. “It’s vital he gets it—and more vital that Jisoo doesn’t find out.”

Mingyu smiles at him like a dirty-minded cherub. Definitely gleeful. “You want me to create a little distraction too? With one of your old shirts, a robe and some straw sacks, I can make an uncanny resemblance of you and throw it off the edge of a cliff. Preoccupy Jisoo for a while.”

Seungcheol considers that offer seriously; it sounds cruel and unnecessary. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

* * *

 

“Mythical creatures?”

“Yes.” says Mingyu, smiling a little at the blatant surprise on Woozi's face. “You know—Unicorns, dragons, elves, _mer_ —"

“I know what they _are_ Mingyu,” Woozi interrupt angrily, then respectfully lowers both his head and his tone. “I just don’t know _why_ the Prince would want me to have this book.”

“Well—it’s a book. I suspect he wants you to _read_ it.”

“But I—” Woozi cuts himself off.

He’s mastered a great many skills since he’s arrived at the palace, but reading and writing have been frustratingly slow progress.

He tries to study in his free time, but Soonyoung assures him a great many servants don’t possess those skills either and he shouldn’t be embarrassed.

“I need to get back.” Mingyu says, edging towards the door. “Remember—the royal gardens, tomorrow at noon.”

Woozi rolls his eyes. “I won’t forget.”

“Oh, and another thing,” Mingyu adds, sticking his head back inside the room. “He says ‘Hello’, and he hopes you’ve eaten well.”

Woozi clutches the book against his chest and fights hard to hold back a blush.

The Prince has made a point of sending strawberries down to the workshop for Woozi to enjoy, a gesture that Woozi still finds himself somewhat irrationally overjoyed about. 

“Anything else?”

Mingyu nods seriously, then smirks. “Yeah—he said I should ruffle your hair.”

Woozi promptly shoves him out of the door and slams it in his face.

There’s far too much hair ruffling going on in the palace for his liking. Mainly aimed at _him_.

He clears a space on the table and sets the book down. He doesn’t know what the Prince wants to speak to him about, but he hopes it’s not to discuss said book.

It’s not that he wouldn’t _enjoy_ joining some strange Royal book club, if such a thing existed, but he won’t be able to contribute if he can’t read the damn thing.

Thankfully, there’s plenty of drawings inside that illustrate the stories well enough. Stories about Dragons and Warlocks, Elves enchanting Kings from faraway lands, and Mermaids luring sailors to their watery graves…..

Woozi’s heartbeat speeds up even as his stomach sinks, a strange, somersault sensation to accompany the confusion in his head.

A series of images flash over his eyes—the pictures in the book taking shape.

Suddenly the yellowing pages under his fingertips are familiar, the words on the page echoing in his head in a voice that doesn’t belong to him.

_‘Am I in the book?’_

_‘Well, your type are mentioned. There is a whole chapter in here about mermaids.’_

He slams the book shut and pushes it away from him, hands shaking and legs burning with an intolerable itch.

The sensations only last a few seconds, but they leave Woozi with an unpleasant feeling in his gut, a simple sense that something is not as it should be, though he can't put words to his reason.

* * *

 

The fresh air of the Royal gardens is a relief after a laborious morning in the workshop, and Woozi breathes a gratified sigh as he steps through the archway and a pleasant breeze dances its way over his heated cheeks.

He decides to wait by the entrance for the Prince, hesitant to venture any further unaccompanied. The Palace is familiar territory—he knows every hallway, every staircase, but this section of the Royal gardens is off limits to the servants—and he would hate to be accused of trespassing even though he has been invited.

It’s a shame only a handful of people get to enjoy the splendour of the Royal gardens. They really are quite beautiful.

There are finely pruned hedges standing on either side of the entrance, exotic plants dotted along a cobblestone path as far as the eye can see. To the right is the entrance to a hedge maze, to the left, vines circle a row of columns, creeping up through cracks in the stone benches and statues. 

Woozi laughs softly and spins once, his arms extended, his sleeves and tunic swaying as he breathes in the garden air, taking in the sun's rays.

He stops short when he catches sight of the Prince, watching him quietly from the archway.

“I take it you like the gardens.” Seungcheol smiles, a playful glint in his eyes.

Woozi swallows past the tightness in his throat. “Uh—yes. They’re lovely. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many—” He gestures at the pretty red flowers, the trellises of which are dotted here and there.

“Flowers?” The Prince asks, a smile breaking over his face.

“No. These—” Woozi trails off, lost for the word. “Red petaly _things_.”

The Prince tilts his head quizzically, considering the offered alternative. “You mean— _Roses_?”

“Yes—roses.” Woozi nods, committing the word to memory. “They’re very pretty.”

The Prince hums a noncommittal sound. “Yes, I suppose they are quite pretty. But they’re hardly the prettiest sight in this garden. Not with _you_ here.”

Woozi’s ears are ringing with the earnestness of Prince Seungcheol’s words.

He manages to ignore the flattery by leaning in to sniff one of the blooms.

Seungcheol’s eyes follow him, then he plucks a blood red rose and offers it to Woozi. "For you," he says, eyes crinkled in a smile that looks somehow less a smirk than usual.

Woozi considers refusing, but the bloom is lovely and Seungcheol is twisting the thorns off the stem in an oddly tender gesture.

"Thank you," Woozi says instead, dignified, and breaks the stem in half so he can tuck the rosebud into the buttonhole of his shirt.

“There’s a fountain this way, where we might sit,” Seungcheol says, nodding to the left.

They walk along the flowerbeds for a few minutes, Seungcheol directing them to turn here or there with a tranquil confidence that Woozi admires. Eventually, they turn into a small courtyard boarded by tall rose trellises on three sides. In the centre is a fountain, with a statue of a horse in the middle. Water trickles from the horse’s hooves.

They sit together on a bench next to the fountain, though Woozi is careful to maintain a polite distance between them.

“You wished to discuss something with me?” Woozi prompts, when it becomes clear the Prince is content to just sit and stare at him.

Seungcheol smiles at him and sidles closer—too close, their sleeves have no business touching like that. “Yes, I wish to no more about you— _Woozi_. Tell me about where you’re from. What’s it like—this far away Kingdom you have come from?”

“I can’t really remember much about it.” Woozi says in a carefully measured tone.

Seungcheol’s smile is undaunted, “Nothing at all huh? Don’t you think that’s _strange_? How _little_ your remember before you arrived in the palace?”

Woozi quashes a prickling rise of defensiveness. “I’ve had a great deal of things to occupy my thoughts. The palace is new and wonderful—it’s only natural that I have forgotten certain details of my Kingdom when there is much more to explore here.”

Seungcheol doesn't seem irritated by Woozi's obvious deflection. If anything, his expression softens into something that might almost be affection.

“What did you think of the book I sent you? Did you have a chance to _read_ it?”

Woozi's not sure what to do with that question, but the Prince is watching like he's waiting for Woozi to acknowledge an obvious point, so he focuses harder. He tries to think it through and decipher Seungcheol's words—tries to make them point to a useful conclusion.

“Yes. It was very…… _interesting_. Mythical creatures and folklore—not something I’ve had a chance to _read_ about before. But I did. I read the entire book—back to front. I enjoyed it immensely.”

“You read the entire book in half a day?” The Prince looks sceptical. Woozi doesn't know what to say. “That’s an incredible feat—considering you _can’t_ read.”

Woozi leaps to his feet. He feels confused and unprepared for this. Body suddenly restless and tense, with no enemy to fight.

“Why have you brought me here your highness? Too _belittle_ me? To mock me? Is that it? You’re right—I can’t read. _Or_ write for that matter. It doesn’t make me some useless fool for you to tease. Not everyone has the privilege of an illustrious education.” He says, taking a step back.

“No—wait! I can explain!” says Seungcheol in a rush, grabbing Woozi’s hand to forestall his departure.

Woozi yanks his hand away as if burned.

“Explain _what_?” He snaps, letting anger mask his hurt and humiliation. “That your inherited title and power has shaped you into a conceited prick? No explanation is necessary, because that’s obvious for anyone to see!”

He’s out of line and he knows it.

Far out of line. But instead of taking offence or summoning guards or executing him on the spot, the Prince approaches him slowly, hands held out in an appeasing gesture.

“You’re right—I’m an asshole, and I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t call you an asshole—I called you a conceited prick!” Woozi is quick to point out.

He can’t believe he just said that. It’s got to be the anger talking.

Seungcheol seems totally unflustered. “I’m that too—I’m not denying it, but please, just let me explain myself.”

There’s no demand in the Prince’s voice, only a request just shy of pleading as he steps into Woozi's space.

Woozi crosses his arms and taps his boot on the ground, waiting impatiently to hear him out—although he doesn’t know why he feels he has to. There is no rational explanation for the fact that his heart is racing.

“I know you don’t remember me Jihoon, but I remember you. I may have seemed delusional that night in my chambers, claiming you to be someone I know that you have no memory of, but I speak the truth. We _know_ each other—have known each other for some time, until you suddenly disappeared. I have searched for you frantically for the last month, I almost lost all hope—so imagine my surprise when I find you delivering a tonic in my chambers—claiming to be someone else. Claiming to be this _Woozi_ person.”

Woozi's heart is beating too fast, and his face is warm, and his lungs keep trying to hitch.

“I’m not claiming to be anybody other than who I am.” He protests through all these sensations. “I _am_ Woozi!”

“No—you’re not!” Seungcheol snaps. The words are said with a certainty that sends Woozi’s pulse racing further. “That’s just a name you’ve given yourself because you have forgotten who you are. You are Jihoon. You are _my_ Jihoon.”

The look in his eyes is so earnest Woozi has to turn away, showing his back to the Prince in a gesture that is probably worthy of punishment.

The Prince is silent for a long moment—then he steps up behind Woozi and let his hands rest on his waist.

Woozi forces himself not to flinch. It's difficult to hold his ground when Seungcheol edges even closer and says in an impossibly soft voice, “I know I blunder in when I should tread lightly, but I’m just so desperate for you to remember what we had together. I thought I lost you for good once, and I refuse to let it happen again. I will do _anything_ to make you remember. Anything.”

Woozi lets his eyes fell shut, a pleasant shiver rolling up his spine as Seungcheol’s warm breath ghosts over his ear.

Taking a steadying breath, he turns to face Seungcheol, forces himself to ask, “If you knew me once, then why does nobody else in the palace recognise me as this _Jihoon_ person?”

Seungcheol smiles.

It's a heavy smile, weighted down by something dark and guilty and regretful. The expression makes the smooth lines of his face look impossibly old.

“You were sort of my little secret.” says Seungcheol, his tone sheepish.

Woozi can’t help but frown a little at that. He honestly doesn't know if that makes it better, or worse.

Seungcheol seems to see the direction of his thoughts and shakes his head emphatically. “No—not like that. It _wasn’t_ like that.”

He takes Woozi by the elbow and guides him to sit on the stone bench again.

They’re hidden behind a maze of bushes, but the Prince’s eyes flick nervously to the archway, then refocus on Woozi and he says, “It’s not that I _wanted_ to keep you a secret, but circumstances beyond your control prevented me from introducing you to anyone. I regret not at least trying now—even though I am almost certain everyone would have thought me mad.”

“They already kind of do.” Woozi says in a flat tone.

The Prince looks surprised, eyebrows practically hitting his hairline.

“Well you _do_ have a pet lobster.” Woozi says pointedly.

“True—but that’s really _your_ fault.” Seungcheol says, and now it's Woozi's turn to blink in surprise. “You’re the one who _gifted_ him to me. I couldn’t bear the idea of eating him after you’d named him, so I had no choice but to keep as a pet.”

Woozi makes a face.

“Was I also the one who suggested you make him your advisor and dress him in a tiny sash?” He says, because there’s no getting around that.

“No,” Seungcheol chuckles sheepishly. “That was my idea. I did it to annoy Jisoo.”

Woozi can’t help it—he giggles. He quickly puts a hand to his mouth to stifle himself, but the quiet noise has already drawn the Prince’s attention. 

Seungcheol grins at him and scoots closer on the bench. “I often pretend my best decisions have come from Larry’s advice—just to see Jisoo throw a fit. It’s childish—but very entertaining.”

He’s trying to look serious, but failing miserably. The sparkle in his eyes is a dead give-away, and Woozi has to work to keep his face sober.

“He really does hate that Lobster.” Woozi whispers. “I heard him plotting his death with the cook once.”

“Oh _really_?” Seungcheol intones, looking vengeful. “Well—we’ll see how he reacts to the knighthood I plan on offering— _Sir Larry.”_

Woozi can’t stifle his laughter this time, not with the gleeful look on Seungcheol’s face. He’s nearly in tears when he stops, and wipes away beads of moisture as Seungcheol continues to smile smugly.

The silence that slips between them is comfortable, and Woozi feels himself relaxing before Seungcheol speaks quietly,

“May I hold your hand?”

Woozi is certain he's misheard Seungcheol for a long confusing second.

He looks down at the Prince’s hands, twitching in anticipation, then back up to the Prince’s face, the hopeful curve of his mouth.

“Is that something we _did_?” He asks, not sure he wants an answer.

Perhaps this is some sort of thing Princes considered acceptable and normal people didn't.

Seungcheol laughs, a strange throaty laugh that Woozi has never heard before.

“We did a great deal _more_ than that actually.” He smirks—then has the good grace to look embarrassed, “But uhm—hand holding’s a nice start.”

There's a twist in Woozi's gut which is most certainly not horror at the suggestion; he can feel the blush spread all the way to the crown of his head.

After a heartbeat of hesitation, Woozi nods and gently, Seungcheol takes one of Woozi’s hands in his own, squeezing in a gesture that is probably supposed to be reassuring.

It’s a strange sensation, since Woozi really isn't used to just randomly holding another man's hand, for any reason, at all. Seungcheol has more calluses than him, a strange mixture of smooth and hard under Woozi's fingers. Warm and dry, loose enough that he can slip out but firm enough that he can tell he isn't supposed to.

It feels quite nice actually. He could get used to this.

“Your highness?” A polite voice interrupts.

Woozi immediately launches himself off the stone bench and away from Seungcheol’s side. He spins to find the King’s guard, Mingyu, with one foot on the path leading to their little hideaway.

The expression on Mingyu’s face is awkwardly uncomfortable but reassuringly clueless. “I, uh… sorry for disturbing you, but Jisoo is uhm—no longer mourning the untimely demise of the straw sacks.”

Woozi has no earthly idea what he’s talking about, but Seungcheol seems to, and he nods.

“I’ll be right there. Thank you, Mingyu.”

Mingyu interprets that—correctly—as a dismissal and scurries off.

Woozi watches him leave and reminds himself that he too has responsibilities he should be seeing to. As nice as this has been—he can’t stroll in the garden and hold the Prince’s hand all day. 

Behind him, Seungcheol clears his throat. “I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable in any way.” he says, his voice a little ragged.

Woozi answers honestly. “No, you haven’t.”

Seungcheol relaxes at Woozi's answer, palpable relief loosening the tension from his shoulders.

“So—will you permit me to see you again?”

Woozi blinks in surprise. “You’re the crown _Prince_ —anything you wish is permissible.”

“Jesus—don’t say it like _that_.” Seungcheol groans with affectionate exasperation. And then, expression going darker and a little bit embarrassed, he adds, “You might not like _what_ I wish for.”

Woozi shrugs, avoiding his eyes. “If you wish to see me again, you need only request it.”

The Prince looks away again, but not quickly enough to keep Woozi from noticing the hint of redness on his cheeks, the guilty relief shining in his eye.

Silence settles between them, mostly uncomfortable, until Seungcheol steps closer and catches his hand gently.

“Till we meet again.” he smiles, kissing Woozi’s hand.

Woozi stands stunned, rubbing his hand awkwardly and unsure of how to respond.

He doesn’t know what’s expected of him when the Crown Prince kisses his hand.

Does he return the gesture? Does he bow? _Flee_?

He chooses to flee.

It’s probably rude, but he figures he’s going to get away with it because he can hear Seungcheol laughing somewhere behind him.

* * *

 

A small cauldron bubbles on the main workbench when Woozi returns to the workshop.

Soonyoung is tending to it, but with a bland expression and a violently arched eyebrow, as if to convey the message that whatever reason Woozi has concocted for leaving the workshop without permission, it is not nearly so impressive as Woozi might think.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you and—my god! Is that one of the Queen’s rare blooms from the Royal gardens? Did you help yourself to one?”

Woozi pushes the door closed behind him and tries to look contrite. “No. Seung—uh—the _Prince_ gave it to me. He summoned me there.”

Soonyoung’s face clouds before smoothing into the neutral, measured blank he's been wearing since his _own_ summoning to the Prince’s chambers the other day.

“Oh, well—never mind then. Now that you’re here—could you fetch me some dussledork paste? The bottle is just behind you.”

Woozi nods and fetches the bottle.

Soonyoung has left space on the bench beside him, and Woozi takes a seat. Silent but contrite.

“Soonyoung,” He begins hesitantly, waiting until his tutor’s attention shifts to him to continue, “When the Prince asked to speak with you the other day—was it about me? He seems to know a lot about my situation. Did you tell him?”

Soonyoung stares at him with a blankness that makes his skin itch. There's something inexplicably cautious in his tone as he says, “Honestly—no. He seemed to already know everything there was to know about you. Even more than I thought there _was_ to know.”

Woozi frowns.

That’s not exactly very helpful.

Mysterious yes, helpful no.

He pauses and gathers himself, feels his shoulders tense in anticipation as he drops his voice low and says, “What did he know about me that you didn’t?”

Soonyoung looks away then, and Woozi can see an unhappy tick in his jaw, an anxious swallow, and he knows the blankness is an act. Whatever's going on in Soonyoung's head right now, it's unsettling, and he obviously doesn't want to share with him.

Perhaps Seungcheol does know him from _before_ —before he lost his memories and wound up on the beach. A tiny, subversive voice in the back of Woozi's head asks, ' _But why keep you a secret? What circumstances could there have possibly been for him to hide you from everyone?_ '

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that Woozi,” Soonyoung says, interrupting Woozi's bleak train of thought.

Woozi gapes, caught off guard by the confession. “Why not?”

Soonyoung looks torn. “Uhm—well, uhm. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

Awkward unease twists beneath Woozi's skin and burrows into his bones.

Before he can rise from his seat and leave, Soonyoung’s hand settles on his arm. The blankness on his face has melted completely away now, and the expression in his eyes is reassuring.  

“The Prince means you no harm Woozi. Believe me. He might be acting strangely around you, but he has very noble intentions.”

Woozi laughs and lets his head thump forward against the table.

' _Yeah right_ ,' he wants to say. ' _There’s nothing noble about the way he looks at me_ '. But even in the privacy of his thoughts he doesn't mean that.

When he raises his head again, he finds Soonyoung watching him with calm consideration.

“It all makes sense really. I now realise why he has been behaving so strangely. Everything he has done—and will do, is to protect you.”

Woozi’s sighs. His chest already feels lighter, his thoughts impatient, and without consciously meaning to he blurts, “I know.”

* * *

 

Woozi dreams that night.

He dreams of dark skies and white capped seas, lines of electricity cutting through the horizon. Wave upon wave of water crashing down on him, trying to pen him in.

There's an older man’s face looking up at him through the water, a younger man with oddly flowing coloured hair with him. They’re watching him with hope, pity, regret—eyes full of contradictions that make him feel raw and uncertain.

And then there's Seungcheol, standing on the edge of a peer in the distance.

‘ _Jihoon_.’ His voice carries clear and strong despite the wind that's tearing at the air.

The next instant, Woozi finds himself somewhere dark and Seungcheol is right in front of him, close and sudden.

Woozi is opening his mouth to say something else, but Seungcheol's lips are in the way and he doesn't manage a single word. But that's just fine, because Seungcheol's mouth is cool and dominant and perfect on his. Seungcheol is pressing close along Woozi's front, and Woozi couldn't retreat even if he wanted to.

There's a wall behind him now that wasn't there before. It's smooth and wet, and it pulses with light.

There's a distant corner of Woozi's brain screaming at him that this is a _dream_ —even though the vividness of it is astounding, as is the depth of its breath, pulse, and life—it has to be a dream because the Prince is _kissing_ him.

And Woozi’s kissing him back, reaching with greedy hands, touching everywhere he can.

He draws Seungcheol flush against him, or maybe Seungcheol is shoving him that much harder against the wall, and though there is water, there is also friction, and Woozi gasps when one of Seungcheol's hands slips down over his hips, fingers grazing Woozi's—

And then he wakes, sharp and sudden, and he's alone in his bed with the first gray hints of dawn creeping in through the window.

He's hard beneath his night clothes, and though he understands that part of his body a little better than before, he feels a little too weird about the dream to just reach down and take care of the problem.

Woozi swears and rolls over in the bed, face buried in a cold space on the pillow.

It doesn't help the burn in his skin at all. The insistent, impossible to ignore, weight of his cock crushed to the bed. He doesn't know whether it's punishment, or an extra slice of sensation, to make it feel real.

He swears and pulls his nightshirt out of the way, touches himself. The relief a perfect balance to the guilt when he moans, “Cheol.”

* * *

 

Today the courtyard is peppered with craftsmen, servants and warriors hanging banners and erecting a large tent that would, by the look of the seats and acoustics being arranged, soon serve as a theatre.

Seungcheol tries not to scowl too obviously as he surveys the work alongside his mother, the Queen.

“I have seen to the seating plan myself. You will have the Baronesses’ daughter to your right, and the Duke’s son to your left.” She is saying, gesturing as the seats are positioned. “Both suitable candidates I might add.”

“Great. Thank you, Mother.” Seungcheol says bitterly. “I’ll be sure to poison my own drink to cure my inevitable boredom.”

The Queen doesn’t even bother to chastise his sullen tone; Seungcheol’s feelings about the upcoming ball are no secret from her.

She does step closer, takes a moment to frown and fret in Seungcheol’s direction.

“I do wish you’d smile more.” She says as flutters around him, straightening his already-straight lapels and brushing completely non-existent lint off of his shoulders. “You’re so handsome when you smile.”

Seungcheol sighs and gives an expansive shrug of helplessness. “There’s really nothing to smile about.”

“Don’t say that,” She admonishes with uncharacteristic gentleness. “You behave as if you were a man being led to the gallows, not a Prince about to choose his mate.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to point out how those two choices currently feel like one and the same, when he spots a small blonde head of hair moving across the courtyard.

Even from this distance it’s unmistakably Jihoon, and Seungcheol’s eyes fix on him keenly.

Jihoon’s moving in a hurry, a small pouch in his hands as he weaves between the workmen. He’s out on an errand no doubt, and Seungcheol wonders where he’s going—if there’s a way he can join him, or perhaps whisk him away from the errand all together.

“Seungcheol?” The Queen calls to him, breaking into his thoughts. “Are you even listening to me?”

“No.” Seungcheol answers unthinkingly, too busy following Jihoon’s movement as he disappears into the gardens.

When Seungcheol finally turns to face his mother, he finds her watching him with a narrow-eyed expression. She’s too regal and graceful to cuff him over the ear, but Seungcheol can read it in her eyes.

Seungcheol blinks, bleary-eyed and tries to remember what they were discussing.

The Queen stares back at him quietly, then looks heavenward. “Be on your way Seungcheol—you’re clearly too distracted to be any use to the preparations today.”

Seungcheol thinks he ought to protest that—but he bows and accepts her dismissal graciously instead.

Taking great care not to move too eagerly, he slips past the small stream of cheerful laborers and approaches the garden arch through which he saw Jihoon disappear into moments before. 

He finds his Merboy in the greenhouse, collecting herbs with such tender patience he doesn’t notice Seungcheol creeping up on him until he’s a scant few inches away. 

Seungcheol leans down to whisper a quiet, “Hello” in his ear, making no attempt to hide his ear-to-ear grin as Jihoon startles and nearly drops the pouch in his hand.

The boy spins, a scowl working its way across his face until he registers _who_ has interrupted his errand.

“Seung—” Woozi begins, then quickly amends his miss-step with an awkward bow. “I—I meant—your highness. Excuse me, I didn’t realise it was you.”

Jihoon’s fluster is so unmistakable that Seungcheol almost laughs, and he draws in an unsteady breath when Seungcheol strokes one thumb across his cheek.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you calling me that. I much prefer if you just called me Seungcheol.” Seungcheol chuckles, trying to ease some of that astonished vulnerability off Jihoon's face.

It doesn't work.

Jihoon still looks a little dazed. It’s an expression he seems to wear disturbingly often, around Seungcheol. Which he chooses to find encouraging, rather than worry about.

Apparently realizing that  _some_  sort of response is desirable, Jihoon clears his throat and says, "Apologies Sire—how may I assist you?"

Seungcheol sighs and grips his shoulder firmly, “I do not require your _assistance_. I request your company. Do you permit it?”

Woozi ducks his head and smiles at that. “Of course, Sire—”

“Great!” Seungcheol claps his hands together. “Shall we take a stroll through the gardens?”

“As you wish. But I….I must deliver these herbs to Maester Soonyoung first.” Jihoon continues apologetically, “He requires them urgently for a healing tonic.”

Seungcheol frowns down at the small bag of herbs in Jihoon’s hands.

Spotting a shadow moving outside the Greenhouse, he plucks the pouch and steps outside, whistling at one of the gardeners passing by.

The man, wheeling a wheelbarrow, stops immediately and approaches. “Yes, your highness?”

“Deliver these to Maester Soonyoung in the palace workshops if you please.” Seungcheol instructs, offering up the pouch.

The man accepts it and scurries away to see to his task without a glance backwards.

“Mission accomplished.” Seungcheol grins, turning to Jihoon now standing behind him. “Now do I have your undivided attention?”

Jihoon gives him an amused look beneath his lashes, an action likely more flirtatious than he had intended.

“Of course, Sire.”

* * *

 

They stroll side by side through the gardens as they talk, then over a small hillock and down to a narrow path circling the lake.

There's a mist creeping around the treeline, and the Palace and its many spires look oddly small from where they are now.

Woozi has ever ventured this far from Soonyoung’s workshop before, but he’s glad of the privacy; he’s had eyes and ears for nothing but Seungcheol since the beginning of their (third—or is it fourth) serendipitous encounter and from here, one could almost forget they were in on the palace grounds at all. 

When it begins to rain lightly, they can take refuge under the roof of a Palladian bridge.

Seungcheol leans against one of the railings in a very picturesque way that implies he’s waiting for someone to come alone and paint his portrait. It forces Woozi to take a more composed stance at his side.

"Do you dance?" Seungcheol asks suddenly, which is something of a surprise considering the upcoming ball is one topic of conversation he simply refuses to discuss with anyone.

Woozi's brain briefly comes to a bewildered stop.

"What?"

"Dance," Seungcheol says, straightening up. "Do you know how?"

"I don't _think_ so," Woozi says carefully. More than a little intrigued as to where Seungcheol is going with that. "At least, probably not  _on purpose_."

Seungcheol smirks and holds out a hand, "Come then—I’ll teach you.”

Woozi eyes him suspiciously, but obediently moves over to where Seungcheol is still standing with his hand held out.

Seungcheol moves in close, until their bodies are almost touching, the space of a breath dancing between them.

Woozi feels every muscle tense, but this is _Seungcheol_. He isn't frightened of him, no matter what his pulse is doing, and he doesn't try to step away from the Prince and the six inches of height he has on him.

“Now—grab my shoulder.”

"W-what?” Woozi says, his voice actually cracking.

Rather than repeat himself, Seungcheol catches Woozi's wrist, drags his hand up and lays it over his shoulder. Then he snatches his other hand up and just hold it in mid-air, like he expects something to swoop past and grab them both.

"I don't think I'm built for dancing," Woozi warns him carefully. His skin tingles with anticipation, although he isn't entirely sure what he is hoping for. "I'm fairly sure I don't have enough legs, or possibly I have too many. I've never really investigated."

He shuffles his feet, perhaps to further demonstrate his uselessness.

Seungcheol smiles fondly and squeezes his waist. "It's not hard, just follow me."

"Follow you where?"

Seungcheol doesn't laugh, but his face suggests he'd quite like to. "I meant—follow my _lead_."

"Follow your lead, right, I've got it," Woozi nods, when he secretly rather doubts that he actually does.

"And try not to tread on my feet."

"What happens if I tread on your feet?"

"Don't," Seungcheol says flatly. Which really isn't encouraging at all.

Woozi laughs awkwardly.

"No, but seriously, what if I do?"

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow and then moves, and Woozi, rather than let Seungcheol try to perform the impossible feat of walking through him, tries to move as well in some sort of mutually non-falling-over sort of way.

He stumbles mostly. And the backwards walking _thing_ isn't particularly pleasant, but Seungcheol’s hold is firm without being tight, his steps sure without being forceful.

"I'm going to walk into something," Woozi says uncertainly, trying to glance behind himself.

"No, you're fine there's plenty of empty space behind you. I can see where I'm going even if you can't." And it’s all right for Seungcheol to sound so certain, since he isn't the one likely to fall over a misaligned flagstone, and end up with a lap full of Prince.

And—wait. What’s happening? Now they are  _turning_.

Woozi checks to make sure he’s moving his feet right.

Seungcheol squeezes his hand, "Don’t look at your feet."

"If I don't look at my feet how am I supposed to know where  _yours_  are?"

"You just are," Seungcheol says, like that’s supposed to be helpful.

Woozi thinks he’s doing quite well until the hand wrapped around his tightens, and suddenly, Seungcheol lets go of his waist and swings him away. It leaves him briefly flailing on his own, before Seungcheol shifts his hand back to his waist, drawing Woozi back into a proper dance hold.

“When I let go of your waist, you should spin or bow to the audience.” Seungcheol explains.

“There isn’t an audience!” Woozi snaps as Seungcheol makes him walk backwards again.

“Pretend there is—pretend the whole world is watching.” Seungcheol says—like the added weight of expectation is supposed to help him get _better_ or something.

Oddly enough Woozi seems to be better at the steps the second time, though he still doesn't have a clue what he’s doing.

"You're quite good at this," He points out, as Seungcheol turns them again.

"I have to be.” Seungcheol’s voice holds a sharp note of irritation that Woozi choses to ignore. “It was either be good at dancing, or practice it  _forever_."

“Why do I have to practice it?” Woozi dares himself to say. “It’s not like _I’m_ going to any balls.”

 _“You never know.”_ Seungcheol winks. “I could always sneak you in. It would certainly liven up my evening.”

Woozi realizes, guiltily, that he's imagining the possibility himself.

It could happen. He _could_ attend the ball—perhaps on Seungcheol’s arm?

He shakes his head in an effort to clear his thoughts, and Seungcheol looks at him curiously.

“Something wrong?”

“No—nothing.” Woozi says, feeling dumb and distracted.

He offers a smile and relaxes his shoulders slightly, feels a reassuring squeeze from Seungcheol's hand that encourages him to keep moving. He watches Seungcheol's eyes—the absolute acceptance there, and a hint of something else, something between affection and hunger. He marvels at the way Seungcheol's body seems to press one way or the other, his own naturally following the course Seungcheol has set.

Seungcheol manages to derail Woozi's careful train of dancing thought, by speeding up just fractionally.

Woozi takes a deep breath as Seungcheol spins him, “Perfect!” Seungcheol says, catching him again with a confident hand. “You’re a fast learner—as I knew you would be.” He grins, moving the two of them in a graceful series of turns.

“Slow down. It’s my first time.” Woozi whines.

He’s fairly certain that he's just trodden on Seungcheol's foot...or possibly  _feet_? Because the floor is neither that soft nor  _moving_. Though Seungcheol hasn't done anything immediate and painful to him, so he’s going to go on pretending that it hadn't happened.

Woozi looks at his feet again, only to have Seungcheol put a hand under his jaw and push his head back up.

"I'm not looking," Woozi protests, though he’s probably a little late on the protestation of innocence there.

"Keep your eyes on me—I’m going to dip you next," Seungcheol says, and for a moment Woozi isn't quite sure what he means, but it seems to involve being much closer than is really practical.

Woozi clears his throat, “ _Dip_ me?”

In the next moment, Seungcheol tightens his grip around his waist, steps sideways and tilts Woozi _back—back—back_ , until the small of his back is resting on Seungcheol’s knee. Woozi ends up flailing with one leg in the air with no clue about where he is going next. Until Seungcheol smirks and straightens up again, hoisting him up onto both feet again. 

“ _That_ —was a dip.” Seungcheol explains.

“ _Oh_.” Woozi says. He sounds a little breathless and a little too awed than is really good for his pride.

Seungcheol pulls him a little closer. Not too close for the dance, not close enough to be scandalous, but closer all the same.

“Again?”

Woozi nods, feeling warm and satisfied and, god help him,  _happy_ , and he giggles as Seungcheol spins them across the bridge.

Seungcheol dances in a way he’s never seen before, certainly never experienced, powerful and fluid at once—and he doesn’t leave Woozi behind in any of this. Soon Woozi stops thinking about the individual steps, the checklist running through his mind of beats and foot placement and arm angles.

He stops thinking all together.

Woozi finds himself moving with Seungcheol without thought, without hesitation. Even when Seungcheol lifts him in the air, spins him gracefully away, tips him slowly but unerringly backwards—Woozi moves with him as if the idea were his own.

“You’re a natural.” Seungcheol whispers, pulling Woozi back to his feet again.

Woozi takes note of the Prince’s glazed eyes, and smiles.

At least he’s not the only knocked for a loop.

As the shadows grow longer, they continue to move together, eyes smiling at one another, bodies relaxing into familiarity, a gentle rhythm.

As long as they’re moving, it feels like the focal point of his world has shifted: the centre of gravity now belongs to Seungcheol, and Woozi could no more step away than he could fly.

He’s so caught up in the dance he fails to notice the person watching them a short distance away, until Seungcheol brings them to an abrupt stop.

“Mother?” Seungcheol croaks, hand tightening on his.

Woozi’s eyes widen and he whips his head around in surprise.

The Queen stands there, unexpected and regal at the open archway of the bridge.

"Oh please, don't let me stop you," she says through a smile. “I was rather enjoying the show.”

Seungcheol’s expression immediately shutters, like the Queen has walked in on them doing something  _considerably_  more incriminating. He pulls his hands off Woozi abruptly and steps back, and Woozi feels his absence like a cold wind along his body. 

He is embarrassed but he isn't quite sure why. Also, he feels stupid with his arms held out, so he puts them down.

If anything the Queen smiles at him _harder_ —her expression frighteningly sweet.

“You both danced so beautifully, it was a pleasure to watch.” She sighs, looking from Seungcheol to Woozi and back again, an oddly soft look in her eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you’d been dancing partners for _years_.”

Woozi has no idea at all, what the right answer to that is. Before he can even think of a suitable way to reply, Seungcheol pats him on the back.

“You may return to your duties.” He says, tone strangely impersonal.

Woozi bows and leaves quietly, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

* * *

 

When Woozi leaves, Seungcheol holds his breath anxiously.

But the Queen doesn't say anything. No questions, no accusations, no expressions of concern. She just hovers closer, watching Seungcheol carefully.

“Practicing for the ball I _presume_?” She hedges, voice deliberately teasing.

Seungcheol fails completely at looking innocent.

It takes him a second longer to get used to the fact that she _isn't_ going to tell him off for being over-familiar with a servant.

“Yes. It’s been a while since I have danced proper. I wanted to _refresh_ my skills.”

His mother laughs, a short bark of genuine amusement. “And it seems you did. I don’t think I’ve seen you dance so remarkably before, or ever with such enjoyment. I dare to say you were even _smiling_ Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol pretends to develop a sudden intense interest in the stonework of the bridge.

“Guess the excitement of the ball is finally getting to me.” He says, aiming for casual.

His mother looks cynical, and Seungcheol reminds himself that he can’t just blurt out the truth about Jihoon or his Merboy to the Queen even if he is certain she won’t declare him mentally unstable. It’s just best for all of them if Jihoon remains safe and protected in the palace as Woozi, and if everyone else remains pleasantly ignorant about him.

“Who was he?” His mother asks suddenly, gesturing in the direction Jihoon had departed. She sounds more curious than critical, for which Seungcheol is grateful.

“ _Woozi_. He’s uh…..” Seungcheol coughs, makes sure his voice is as detached as he can. “Maester’s Kwon’s apprentice.”

“Ahh yes. I do recall him delivering a health tonic to my chambers once.” The Queen nods thoughtfully. She doesn’t sound angry, Seungcheol had been expecting angry. She sounds intrigued, and more than a little amused. “He’s a very beautiful boy, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” Seungcheol shrugs, looking down at his boots. “I wasn’t really paying attention to him.”

The Queen smirks at him, fondness and exasperation wrapped up in one bright expression.

“Of course, you weren’t.” She drawls, stepping closer. “That’s why you sent him away before I could speak to him, why you’re so protective of him, and why you dashed across the courtyard to seek him out. Obviously he means _nothing_ to you.”

It isn’t meant to be an accusation Seungcheol is sure, but it feels like one regardless.

“I find his company entertaining—that is all.” Seungcheol bristles. “Whatever you think is going on—it isn’t. I’m going to marry someone I don’t want to, I’m going along with you and father’s wishes—is that not enough? Would you rid me of what little joy I have in life?”

A fresh confusion draws his mother’s brows down, and she shakes her head, resting a palm on his cheek gently. “Oh Seungcheol. You know—your father and I just want—”

“What’s best for me. I _know_.” Seungcheol interjects brashly. He’s been on the receiving end of this conversation too many times.

“No.” His mother says. She places her hand on Seungcheol’s arm, squeezing it once. “Happy. We just want you to be _happy_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) This is part one of my update because it was too huge a chapter to throw at you in one go. I was trying to make up for lost time I guess.


	9. His heart in his hands

Woozi is sure the Prince will not seek his company after the Queen interrupted their moment in the garden. He’s sure Seungcheol’s been lectured, warned off from socialising with servants in such a manner—he half expects to be dismissed from the Palace’s employment himself.

But none of that happens. It’s perplexing.

In fact, the Queen greets him warmly the next time he is tasked with delivering a tonic to her chambers. She ushers him closer and tucks a neatly clipped white rose behind his ear.

“Hm.” She studies him thoughtfully. “Beautiful—but I think we’ll save white for another day.” She whispers, just out of earshot of the King, snoozing in a chair nearby.

She holds up a red comb against his cheek next, purses her lips. “No—that won’t do either. Red’s too old fashioned for your fine face.”

“Try blue,” A voice speaks up.

It’s the King, still reclined in his seat, but with one eye cracked open. “Blue will bring out the colour in his eyes.” He says, letting his eyes fall shut again.

The Queen beams at him, then unfastens a Turquoise brooch from her dress—that too is pressed against his cheek.

“I think you’re right dear. Blue is _definitely_ his colour.” She laughs.

Woozi stands stunned, unsure of how to react to any of this.

He just came to deliver a tonic—what’s going on?

The Queen watches him quietly for a moment, then cups his cheeks in both hands warmly. “I hope my son is gentle with you—be sure to tell me if he is not.”

Woozi blinks at her, confusion drawing his brows together.

“He’s very kind to me your majesty.” He finally manages a vague reply, because what do you say to that?

What does she _think_ they’re doing?

Sparring?

Jousting?

Throwing trout at each other— _wait_ —where did that thought come from?

Woozi tries not to ponder the notion for too long—because whatever it is, the Queen seems to have given Seungcheol her acceptance.

And she _must_ —because Seungcheol continues to find ways to see him; in the gardens, in his chambers—even going as far as to appear in Soonyoung’s workshop to watch Woozi work. Woozi doesn’t initially appreciate the distraction, but putting Seungcheol to work makes the Prince considerably less of a prat now that he knows there are _real_ people on the other end of his orders.

He’s useless at mixing tonics of course. _And_ grinding herbs. _And_ he starts more fires that one thought possible—but he seems to enjoy trying _anyway_.

Woozi sees a new side to him, and he’s _relieved_ to discover that Seungcheol isn’t actually the conceited prick he accused him of being. He is still irritable in the mornings, and a spoiled brat much of the rest of the time—but he’s strong and noble and fearless every waking moment of his life.

And handsome.

Fuck is _he_ handsome.

Woozi isn’t sure how to cope with winning his favour, but he can't bring himself to wish the circumstances away. He feels more tranquil than he has in weeks. Lighter in his own head, calmer where his heart beats in his chest. Easier in his skin.

* * *

 

The ball is a few days away, and duty doesn’t stop calling, that unrelenting bitch.

Seungcheol spends all of the next day conversing with delegates, discussing the expansion of trade routes with other kingdoms, and sitting through one hostile high-stakes meeting after another.

A lesser man would have been brought low by panic and exhaustion within the first couple of hours, but Seungcheol’s spent most of his life learning governance and diplomacy at his father's side, and his constant arguing with the likes of Jisoo has him well equipped.

In some ways, negotiating trade routes with a war mongering Grand Duchy of a neighbouring state is a step _down_ in terms of difficulty. And under different circumstances, he might have considered the day routine. A cake walk. Practically a working vacation.

But Seungcheol has other things on his mind than international trade agreements.

He survives the morning with only a slight headache from frowning too much. Lunch is passed with the Finnish envoy exchanging witty anecdotes over exceptional braised lamb and ale. By the time his afternoon engagements are underway, Seungcheol is convinced his window of opportunity to see Jihoon has slammed shut.

It’s a struggle to keep the preoccupation off of his face as walks down the corridor past the library, trailing a mindlessly chattering Jisoo and Mingyu.

The heavy creak of the library door opening behind him draws his attention. He spins to see Soonyoung emerge from the library, carrying a large stack of medical books under his arm. And just behind, struggling with a smaller stack of books, is Jihoon.

A distant part of Seungcheol’s brain is gratified to see that Soonyoung’s not making Jihoon do all the heavy lifting. The rest of him… the rest of him has locked onto to that scowly face like a homing beacon.

Fuck, he probably even has stars in his eyes and a dopey smile on his face, but he can’t bring himself to care even a little.

When Woozi looks up and sees him, the tiniest flush stains his cheeks. He looks more lovely than ever.

Seungcheol lingers behind while Jisoo and Wonwoo continue down the corridor, oblivious in some kind of story exchange.

As he sidles up beside Jihoon, Jihoon’s smile is welcome yet demur—the perfect mask of professionalism. It’s only because Seungcheol is standing close enough to see Jihoon’s darkened eyes that he can read the appreciation in that smile.

“Your highness.” Woozi says, giving a little respectful bow, “Lovely as always to see you.”

“Woozi.” Seungcheol looks around, sees no one but Soonyoung watching them.

Soonyoung’s face is as composed as ever, but Seungcheol sees the tiny nod he sends him. Encouragement? Permission?

Whatever it is, Seungcheol accepts.

Painfully conscious of the full schedule he’s about to mess up, he grabs the books out of Jihoon’s hands, shoves him back into through the library door without comment and closes the door with a trembling hand.

Jihoon looks at him with concern. “Everything all right your highness?”

Seungcheol drops the books on the nearest table and brackets the boy against a bookshelf.

“Yes. I just….uhm…” He’s pretty sure he had a plan here, but hell if he can remember it now. _“Haju kuin valaan emätin…”_ He recites, hoping he’s gotten the pronunciation correct, and hoping even more than Jihoon recognizes the phrase he taught him.

Jihoon looks bewildered for a moment, and mouths the phrase silently as he processes what Seungcheol is saying.

“Did you just say I smelled like a whale’s _vagina_?”

Seungcheol barks a startled laugh, cut short when he realizes Jihoon is completely serious.

“What? No. No—it’s a greeting. In _Finnish_.”

Jihoon eyes him like he might have some sort of, as far undiscovered, head injury. “No, it’s _not_. It’s Finnish for _‘You smell like a whale’s vagina_.”

Seungcheol’s response is an automatic and horrified, “Oh—God! Are you serious? I didn’t know that! No wonder the Finnish ambassador looked at me strangely.”

Jihoon laughs at him, a helpless, wracking laughter very different from his smooth chuckles or sarcastic snorts. The sound is bright and warm, and it does something to Seungcheol's insides. He can't stop staring at the way Jihoon's face contorts with the sound, impish smile twisting his mouth into a grin. 

Finally, Jihoon contains himself, gasping, but the amused hint of a smile is slow to fade as he turns sparkling eyes on Seungcheol.

“Where did you even _learn_ that phrase from?”

Seungcheol wrinkles his nose. “You taught it to me— _actually_. Though at the time you gave the impression it was a greeting of sorts. I shouldn’t be surprised really—you’ve always been cheeky. Throwing trout at me and stealing my medallions.”

There’s no mistaking the quiet gasp that provokes from Jihoon. There's genuine surprise in his eyes, but Seungcheol's pretty sure that's not all he sees there.

“What’s wrong? Did—did that _remind_ you of something?” He asks hopefully.

Jihoon’s quiet for so long Seungcheol fears he won't answer him.

There's too much uncertainty in the boy’s stare, too much confusion and fear. His body language is closed off, not letting Seungcheol in, and it's impossible to guess what he's thinking.

But Seungcheol doesn't look away. And when at last Jihoon answers, there is honesty in his voice.

"I dreamt of you," he says simply, and for a moment that is all. Then he swallows and turns his eyes upwards past Seungcheol, towards the bookcases towering above. "It was... not the usual dream."

Seungcheol can only guess what the _usual_ dream entails because of the deliberate way Jihoon doesn't look at him.

The confession sends a thrill along his skin, but he allows no hint to show on his face. Now is not the time.

"What happened in your dream?" he asks softly.

Jihoon’s eyes dip shyly beneath long dark lashes.

"There was a boat, and a trout. And I was laughing because you fell into the water. Then you were angry with me—because I took…something. You wouldn’t let me go, and I was scared, but then you released me and--.”  Jihoon stops suddenly, eyes wide.

“ _What_? What happened next?” Seungcheol presses.

But he hears it, then. The soft knock on the other side of the door.

It’s possibly the worst sound in existence. “Damn it.”

“You must go.” Jihoon whispers.

“No.”

Jihoon’s laugh is warm and soft. As is the look in his eyes, which sets off all kinds of reactions in Seungcheol. “I’m no Prince, but I’m pretty sure it _doesn’t_ work that way.”

Seungcheol pouts. Just a little. “I don’t want to.”

Another knock, and Seungcheol can practically  _feel_  Jisoo’s increasing urgency through the door.

Suddenly, Jihoon leans up and pops a light kiss on his cheek and steps back. “You have to go Cheol, The Kingdom is waiting.”

Seungcheol’s so stunned by the kiss he lets himself be nudged out the door, adjusting himself as he goes.

He hears the door shut behind him, and he’s left face-to-face with an apologetic Soonyoung and a disapproving Jisoo.

“No explanations, please,” Jisoo scolds, “just come along. You’ve got less than three minutes to meet your next appointment.”

Seungcheol knows better than to resist when Jisoo breaks out _that_ tone of voice.

He dutifully allows himself to be led off to his next meeting. And then the next. It’s only when he’s retired to him chambers for the day that he realizes he was so startled by Jihoon’s kiss, he’d failed to notice something more pertinent.

Jihoon called him _Cheol_.

Not his usual _‘Your highness’_ or ‘ _Sire’_ , or even _‘Prince Seungcheol’._

His nickname had rolled off Jihoon’s tongue easily, with warm familiarity and the realisation lights a tight, dangerous spark of hope in Seungcheol’s chest.

Of course, it could simply be that the boy is becoming more comfortable around him; they’ve have quite a few stolen moments with each other and it’s natural for formality to be discarded after a while.

But now the seed is there in Seungcheol's head, and he can't quite shake the irrational hope.

If Jihoon is indeed beginning to remember him—he needs to act quickly. With the ball only a few days away, he needs to push things in the right direction and help him remember everything he can.

But first, a little groundwork is necessary.

He’s sure Wonwoo will have an old map of the palace grounds _somewhere_ …

* * *

 

There’s no sign of The Prince today.

No quiet knocks on the workshop door, no summons from the royal chambers or even secret messages passed along by Mingyu.

People still ruffle Woozi’s hair, but none of those people are Seungcheol.

Woozi tries not to feel disappointed because Seungcheol is the Crown Prince, and he knows exactly how heavy the burden of responsibility sits on his shoulders. There are matters of the state to attend to, a Kingdom to run and Seungcheol’s clearly been kept busier than ever with the slew of guests arriving for the ball.

Of course—it could just be that he’s _avoiding_ Woozi.

Which is perfectly sensible since their last encounter had been…….

 _…..Confusing_ , to say the least.

 _I kissed the Prince—_ Woozi reminds himself, cringing at his own stupidity— _That’s why he’s avoiding me._

He didn't _mean_ to kiss the Prince.

Okay, yes—maybe he did.

But that was nothing but instinct, nothing but the overwhelming force of Seungcheol's proximity pulling Woozi in and making him want things he's not entirely comfortable thinking about—worse, making him realize that he's been thinking of _nothing_ else for days.

He's being paranoid probably. Hopefully. He's just taking it personally that Seungcheol hasn’t burst into the workshop and kissed him back yet, and now he's alarming himself for no reason. 

Another thought occurs to Woozi, then. One that makes his stomach stop twisting into such tight knots.

Maybe Seungcheol’s not avoiding him at all.

Maybe Seungcheol has already announced his intended mate, and is too busy planning his marriage ceremony to request his company. It could very well be that Woozi will never see him again.

That thought is so unexpectedly upsetting that Woozi promptly shoves it to the back of his mind.

He's got both extremes covered now, and chances are there's some other reason—some logical middle ground that he simply can't see right now.

* * *

 

That night, Woozi finds sleep elusive.

His bed is harder (colder) than usual, and his pillow squashes into uncomfortable lumps beneath his head.

Soonyoung’s breathing stretches steady and loud from the workroom, just like always, but tonight it doesn't lull Woozi towards sleep. Tonight there's too much chaos in his head, and he cannot rest for all his thinking. Lord knows he's been trying for so many hours the night must be half gone.

But he must manage somehow.

One moment he's agonizing over Seungcheol's reaction the next time they cross paths, the next he's murky with sleep. The darkness feels heavier beyond his closed eyelids, the weight of night and exhaustion creeping up on him unawares.

He thinks he must be dreaming. About Seungcheol's hands and Seungcheol's doe eyes….

_A kiss in the darkness, a waterfall in a rocky clearing._

……..It's fading quickly, but fills Woozi with warmth just the same.

He reaches after the dream, after an imagined memory of Seungcheol stroking his hair. But it's too far gone. The images vanish entirely as Woozi breathes a disappointed sigh and shifts onto his other side, careful movements to avoid rolling off the hard, narrow edge of his bed.

It’s then that he hears it: a tiny noise at one of his windows.

Then another. And another.

He bolts off the bed and pulls his window open, stepping out on the small half-balcony to stare down at the gardens a floor below.

Once his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can see Seungcheol standing there, half hidden in the shadows of a hedge.

 _What the hell is he doing? —_ Woozi thinks.

The Prince seems to have dispensed with his usual formal attire in favour of a less conspicuous clothing choice. Woozi notes, with some amusement, that even loitering like a thief in the shadows and wearing a simple shirt and britches, Seungcheol still commands an air of imperiousness.

Anyone could take one look at him and know who he was from the proud tilt of his chin alone.

“What are you doing?"

“Shh—Keep quiet!” Seungcheol interrupts with a sharp hiss and flailing hand. He drops the pebbles he’s been flinging at Woozi’s window onto the grass and beckons him with a wave. “Now—jump.”

Miraculously, Woozi resists the very pressing urge to hurl his shoe in the direction of the Crown Prince’s head.

“Are you mad? I will _not_ jump down.” Woozi whispers loudly.

Seungcheol _sighs_ , like he just knew Woozi was going to be difficult about hurling himself off a balcony in the dead of night.

“Don’t worry—I’ll catch you.” Seungcheol says, sounding unfailingly confident of the fact.

Woozi frowns. He peeks his head over the balcony once, and ducks back inside.

No. No way. This is madness.

What the _hell_ is Seungcheol thinking?

That’s quite a distance to jump even if he _wasn’t_ unfairly shorter than everyone else and he doesn’t like to admit it, but he really doesn’t like heights.

He knows that the Royal Chambers are on the main floor, so Seungcheol would not have had serious trouble escaping his room unnoticed and with his legs intact. Woozi, on the other hand, is on the second floor and is _not_ interested in jumping. 

He likes his legs just the way they are. _Unbroken_.

“There’s a door. A perfectly serviceable and safe exit.” He hisses back. There aren’t any guards in sight, but patrol will be around soon enough.

Seungcheol head shakes in the shadows.

“I don’t want anyone to follow us.” He whispers, alternating between staring up at Woozi and glancing around, keeping an eye out for patrol. “C’mon—Hoonie. It’s not that far a drop.”

“Not that far?” Woozi scoffs. A combination of nerves and the possibility of broken limbs make him a little snappish. “Easy for you to say when you’re down there on ground level. How about you get _your_ ass up here and jump yourself!”

He can’t really make out Seungcheol’s face in the darkness, but he can hear Seungcheol’s smile in his voice. _“Trust me.”_

Woozi huffs out a sigh—but dammit—he can’t _but_ trust him.

As quickly and quietly as he can, he tiptoes around his room, gathering his clothes and dressing in the darkness.

It's easy enough to climb over the edge of the small balcony, a little harder to keep hold of the railing once he lowers himself so his legs are dangling in the air.

Then he glances down and immediately regrets it.

“Cheol!” He whimpers.

This is a terrible idea, that is going to end very badly.

He can feel it.

Seungcheol doesn't appear to care at all.

“I’ve got you—let go!”

Taking a steadying breath, Woozi allows himself drop and—

—Seungcheol catches him in his arms without fail.

“Gottcha!”

Woozi’s head spins at the sight of the bright, relieved smile on the Prince’s face as he sets him down onto solid ground. Seungcheol's hands clasp Woozi's arms tightly, warmly, and there's this weird moment where Woozi wonders what he's supposed to do in return.

Hug him? Stand here grinning like an idiot?

Definitely not kiss him, but of course Woozi's wayward brain supplies that possibility in vivid detail.

He settles for returning the smile and reaching up to give Seungcheol's arms a return squeeze.

The moment is still a little weird, mostly because of the progressively inappropriate dreams Woozi’s been having of him, and the fact that he can't seem to fit those images back into their unobtrusive box in the back of his head.

He's disappointed when Seungcheol drops his hands and steps abruptly away, wondering if he did something to scare the easy grin off the Prince’s face.

But in the next second, Seungcheol is taking hold of his hand instead, interlocking their fingers and pulling them back into the shadows.

* * *

 

“You have a habit of luring me off into seclusion. Should I be worried?” Woozi whispers as they sneak across the dark, empty courtyard towards the forest.

Seungcheol regards him, a spark of genuine amusement in his eyes, and doesn't respond.

Woozi’s not worried, of course. Far from it.

Even though the attention he gets from the Prince still confuses him, Woozi is completely at ease in Seungcheol’s company.

Well, maybe not  _completely_.

There’s a lively, anxious buzzing sensation just under his skin that leaves him hyper aware of every move and sound that Seungcheol makes. But for the first time in a long time, Woozi isn’t in a rush to be anywhere but exactly where he is. And although he has no real idea where this midnight jaunt through the palace grounds with Seungcheol is going to lead, he’s certainly excited to find out.

The moon is a sliver that night, providing just enough light to keep Woozi from tripping in the tall grass, but not enough to really navigate. He keeps his hand clasped in Seungcheol warmer, rougher hand as he does his best to slowly lead them toward the forest bordering the palace.

Almost immediately after they make it past the tree line though, the moon’s pale light is blotted out by leaves and Woozi trips over a root. Unfortunately in his surprise he grips Seungcheol’s hand tighter, inevitably dragging the Prince to the ground with him.

Woozi gives a groan as he feels a twinge of pain where his thigh lands on another tree root, and then another louder groan of confusion when he finds he can’t push himself off the ground.

A second later the warm and oddly familiar weight against his back disappears though, and Seungcheol is kneeling above him, rolling Woozi over frantically. “Shit! Are you alright?”

Woozi sits up slowly, brushing grass and soil off his palms.

The skin stings slightly at being touched, but he knows it isn’t serious.

It’s incredibly dark beneath the forest’s foliage and Woozi can barely make out Seungcheol in front of him. For a minute he feels terribly embarrassed at his clumsiness, especially for dragging the Prince down with him. But no harm has been done and the excitement at his realization that they have snuck out of the palace at night has laughter bubbling up inside him.

“Isn’t it enough I jumped from a second story window, now you try and break my neck traipsing through the forest at night?”

Seungcheol is silent for a moment, swears, and then falls silent again.

A moment later, Woozi is shielding his eyes from a burst of light that comes out of nowhere.

He blinks furiously as his eyes adjust, and then he drops his hand. There’s a small lantern in Seungcheol’s hand, lighting them both up with a flickering orange glow.

Woozi can see concern in Seungcheol’s eyes then, and guilt curling those plump lips downward.

It isn’t very appropriate of Woozi, but that doesn’t stop him from raising his hands and touching the corners of Seungcheol’s mouth, curling it up into a smile. He laughs again, giddy and energized. “I’m just kidding. I’m fine.”

Seungcheol takes Woozi’s hands in his own, facing his palms up and kissing each one. “I should have lit the lantern earlier. I was just waiting until we were covered by the trees. I’m so sorry.”

Woozi hopes that Seungcheol will assume his cheeks are turning red only because of the tiny, glowing lantern.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Now let’s go wherever you’re taking me before a guard sees the light and comes to investigate.”

Seungcheol looks like he wants to protest, but he gives a sigh and nods, standing in one fluid movement and bringing Woozi up with him, their hands still clasped together.

Woozi worries that the mood has been ruined because Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. But then Seungcheol swoops down and plants a soft kiss to his cheek. When he pulls away, Woozi can see that he’s grinning, and he’s sure his heart will burst in his chest, or will soon based on how quickly it’s racing.

It’s easy to traverse the forest with the lantern illuminating the ground and nearby trees. Normally Woozi would be a little uneasy with all the shadows pressing in on him, but with Seungcheol by his side, hand in his, Woozi _knows_ he is safe.

Soon they arrive at a river with a small waterfall overhead, and Seungcheol guides them to a cluster of large, misshapen rocks.

“Here it is.”

Woozi head tilts fractionally in confusion, “Here _what_ is?”

“Our _cave_.” Seungcheol gestures excitedly. “I’ve been wanting to bring you here, but the tide has been too high. So I began searching for the second entrance. I knew there had to be another because I could see light coming down through the ceiling—I just had to figure out where the cave would be in relation to the palace grounds.” He says, then give a whistle of surprise. “It looks much deeper in the dark—but don’t worry, it’s all lit up inside.”

Woozi skims his eyes over the rocks, sceptical, until he sees it: a crevice between two of the largest rocks, and a rope ladder leading down into what appears to be some sort of underground cavern.

“We’re going down there? On _that_?”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol squeezes his hand and lets it drop. “Scared?” he asks with a teasing hint of a challenge.

Woozi rolls his eyes and stomps ahead, “I jumped from a second-floor balcony—I can climb down a fucking rope ladder.” He snaps.

Crouching down to take hold of the rope, he begins to descend. The ladder extends down into smoky darkness, but Woozi can just about make out an ambient glow coming from within.

“Why did you bring me here. It’s just a cave!” He huffs, but as he climbs down past the thick layer of mist, he soon realises it’s anything but.

Dropping down onto a flat rock, Woozi loses all his breath, in one punch of an exhale.

The darkness does nothing to lessen the beauty that greets him: a tropical oasis lush with life. Glowing rocks adorn the walls of the cave, glimmering more subtly than sunlight on the surface of the water and lighting up everything up with a beautiful glow. He can hear the waves crash upon the rock just beyond the cave walls, but the water inside is clear and blessedly still.

“Like it?” Seungcheol asks, dropping down from the ladder behind him. He sounds anxious and eager at the same time.

With the cool sea air all around him, the pounding of the ocean in his ears, Woozi takes a deep breath and smiles. “Yes—it’s….It’s _beautiful_.”

“Does it _remind_ you of anything?” Seungcheol asks tentatively.

Woozi can feel the Prince’s eyes on him, watchful and quiet. When he turns, he finds Seungcheol looking at him strangely, something shadowed and indecipherable in his eyes—something a little expectant.

Woozi swallows past a sudden tightness in his throat. “ _Should_ it?”

Seungcheol has gone from staring at him too intensely, to staring resolutely in another direction entirely. His attention seems to be fixated on an empty patch of wall. There's nothing to see there, and Woozi wonders why Seungcheol suddenly won't look at him. 

“Never mind—it’s nothing.” Seungcheol sighs, voice tinged with longing.

Woozi turns back towards the water, staring at his reflection in the still, clear pool.

There’s something special about this place—he _knows_ , but he can’t quite put his finger on _what_.

“It looks deep.” He says after a minute, looking out across the cave to where another entrance lies submerged below water.

“Yeah, but the water is still. You can swim quite safely.”

“Is that your plan?” Woozi says, and despite the way his nerves feel right now (tight, jumpy, dangerous), he smiles. “Are we going to swim together?”

The stoic blankness of Seungcheol's expression cracks a little, leaving something a little lighter, a little easier in its wake.

“Sure—if you like.”

Woozi grins and unhooks his cloak, tossing it unceremoniously onto a dry rock.

He briefly considers turning away, but decides that modesty at this stage of the game would be pretty silly. Seungcheol's dispensed with his own cloak, but his eyes watch him with intense curiosity as Woozi kicks off his boots and begins working on his britches.

The moonlight filtering through the hole in the ceiling adds nothing by way of useful light, but the shining walls captures and reflects it just the same, adding somehow to the silent montage. And because Seungcheol looks so fascinated—because he's staring with a light in his eyes that manages to convey both desire and curiosity at the same time—Woozi slows his movements, leisurely easing the britches down his hips.

The material pools heavily to the floor and Seungcheol's eyes are immediately fixated on his legs.

There's still curiosity there. And want. And something else that shivers beneath the more obvious surface emotions—something dark and possessive.

An hour ago, Woozi would've doubted himself. He'd have chalked what he thought he saw up to wishful thinking. But he knows better now. And without breaking eye contact, he reaches for the hem of his shirt.

The idle movements of Seungcheol's hands fall still as Woozi slowly, deliberately pulls the fabric up and over his head. When he finally gets free of the material and tosses it aside, he finds Seungcheol's eyes riveted to him with an intensity that could set something on fire.

He spares an instant to wonder what the Prince thinks of the view. Then Woozi flexes his fingers, and gestures at the water.

"Well? Are you coming or not?"

A wide grin breaks out over Seungcheol’s face, and he quickly begins to shed the rest of his clothing.

The thought of watching Seungcheol strip down to nothing in front of him has Woozi a little nervous, so he rushes forward and jumps into the water instead.

It almost feels like the water wraps around him, it almost feels like coming home. Like being wrapped up in a mother’s steadying arms, feeling a father’s calm power, and pressing close to Seungcheol’s warmth.

Woozi’s eyes flash open at the thought, the water not bothering his eyes as he stares up at the  surface.

When had he started thinking of Seungcheol as…  _home_?

Soon enough, he needs to refill his lungs and swims back up to the surface.

Blinking water from his eyelashes, he turns to ask Seungcheol what’s taking him so long, but his mouth is suddenly dry.

Seungcheol is ….naked.

 _Gloriously_ naked—standing on the edge of a rock and peering down into the water.

Appreciation clouds Woozi’s vision, heats his chest as he lets his eyes take in every inch of the muscular body before him.

Seungcheol catches his eye and smirks. “Is it cold?”

He doesn’t even give Woozi time to deal with the fact that he’s standing in front of him—gloriously naked, much less to formulate a response, before he steps forward and dives in.

For a moment, the world is a confusing, windy blur; and then a confusing wet, blue blur; and then Seungcheol bobs to the surface a few feet away.

“You know how to swim, right?” Seungcheol says, slicking back the wet fringe from his face. He holds out his hand towards him, “Or do you want to hold my hand?”

The Prince is smirking, illuminated only by the moonlight, and Woozi is aware that he’s waiting for him to slap his hand away in irritation.

He stares back for a moment, then decides not to take the bait. 

Instead, he reaches out and grasps Seungcheol’s hand, letting their fingers intertwine.

“Can’t I hold your hand anyway?”

Seungcheol’s smirk smooths into something softer. Slowly, he draws Woozi closer till their bodies brush lightly under the water.

“Of course.”

* * *

 

It’s actually very distracting swimming with Seungcheol—even when Woozi’s trying not to think about Seungcheol’s body below the water’s surface.

Woozi can sense the Prince’s body here in a way he can’t when they’re on land. He’s acutely aware of every move Seungcheol makes, can practically feel the distorted currents of water brush against his skin as Seungcheol treads water nearby.

Strangely, the water feels like an extension of himself somehow—familiar and soothing and alive beneath his skin— and each stroke he makes feels less like effort and more like… well…  _breathing_.

It’s not realistic holding hands while swimming, so they part ways and swim around for a while, eventually getting caught up in a splashing fight that Woozi definitely wins.

Sometime later Woozi notices Seungcheol swimming towards the bank and pulling himself out. When Woozi goes to do the same, Seungcheol insists he keep swimming.

Normally Woozi would have gotten out anyway, not wanting to be rude and keep the Prince waiting, but the stream is teeming with energy and life and he can’t bear to leave it yet.

He swims for another immeasurable amount of time until his limbs are shaking with exhaustion. When he finally pulls himself out of the stream, he finds Seungcheol seated on flat, mossy rock overlooking the cave.

He’s mostly dried off, but still very naked and gorgeous and watchful in a way that leaves Woozi's chest tight and his face hot.

“Did you enjoy that?” Seungcheol asks.

Woozi smiles, twisting his hair in his fingers to wring the water from it. “Yeah. Surprisingly all this swimming is strangely… _rejuvenating_.”

“Thought it might be.” Seungcheol says, patting the space on the rock next to him.

Woozi looks steadily into his eyes, aware of the heat that is passing between them. He fights to keep the butterflies from punching holes in his stomach.

The moment is charged with something that feels terrifyingly like potential.

He doesn't know what he _intends_ to do. He knows only that he _has_ to be closer, a physical need for Seungcheol's proximity that he doesn't understand but can no longer resist.

He’s always been one to trust his instincts, and he doesn't give himself time to overthink things now. There will be time for thinking later, after Seungcheol pushes him away (after Seungcheol tells him no).

But right now, he moves straight for Seungcheol.

He feels the questions in Seungcheol's eyes as he closes the space between them. Then instead of sitting on the rock next to the Prince, Woozi drops heavily, unapologetically, to straddle Seungcheol's lap.

Woozi has to give him credit. Seungcheol only allows himself a second to look utterly pole-axed before he is every inch a Prince again.

"Not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing?" Seungcheol asks, blinking up at him.

Woozi considers answering in words, but what can he say that will convey everything he needs Seungcheol to understand?

Words feel insufficient, so he slides his fingers through Seungcheol's hair, lets his eyes fall closed and leans down to touch his mouth tentatively to Seungcheol's.

Seungcheol breathes a soft, startled sound into the kiss, but from the way he immediately moves beneath him—opens for him, kisses him back, gets his hands on Woozi—the message doesn't get lost in translation.

They kiss for long minutes, making breathless noises between every bite and drag of tongue.

Seungcheol's hands are already moving on him, restless and greedy and tight on Woozi's waist and thighs. One hand settles at the nape of Woozi’s neck, tilting his head as the hot tip of Seungcheol's tongue coaxes his startled lips apart and slides greedily past.

Woozi is in constant motion, like he can't get enough—touching, exploring, sliding against Seungcheol. All the while wishing there were some way he could just get  _closer_ —

Then gravity upends him, and when he blinks his eyes open he's on his back with Seungcheol hovering above him. The stone is patchy with damp moss and isn't particularly soft beneath his back, but it's a detail Woozi barely registers as he parts his legs wider and feels Seungcheol's strong form settle between them.

Seungcheol is pressing against him in all the right places now, and Woozi watches, frozen in anticipation, as Seungcheol lowers himself slowly and (finally) kisses him again.

There is heavy press and push of cock against and beside his own, in a way that is utterly foreign and yet makes Woozi completely breathless.

Seungcheol's touch is more forceful now, exploring and demanding, but it's better, it's so much better. This way Woozi can rub right against Seungcheol, can arch against the firm lines of the Prince’s body, the smooth skin and hard muscle, can draw a fractured gasp from Seungcheol's throat as the slippery friction fills them both with pleasure.

He doesn’t quite know what he’s looking for, but his hips give an instinctive thrust and his hands cling to whatever they can get hold of.

Fuck, he  _knows_  he shouldn’t be doing this. Whatever this _is_ , certainly isn’t something he’s allowed to have. But at the moment, Woozi can't bring himself to care.

When Seungcheol draws back from the kiss, Woozi tries to follow him. But Seungcheol holds him in place with one hand, placates him with a string of kisses along his jaw, then a quick nip at the line of his throat.

Woozi gasps, then spends a jealous moment wondering where Seungcheol picked up that trick.

Then Seungcheol speaks, voice a low rumble against Woozi's ear. “Jihoon. Do you—"

“No.” Woozi interrupts, shaking his head. For one second, he thinks he could pretend. But then the second passes. “I don’t—I still don’t remember.”

Seungcheol’s grip tightens reflexively where his fingers are still curled at Woozi's nape. He draws back far enough to look him in the eye, “Then why did you kiss me?”

Woozi’s insides feel too tight all of a sudden, his face too warm and his limbs twitchy.

He can't focus with the weight of Seungcheol's body bearing him down like this, with the deliberate press of Seungcheol's hand on his chest.

He opens his mouth, but it takes him a couple of tries to make the words come.

“Because it felt right. Because I _wanted_ to.”

Seungcheol stares down at him. His face cycles through several expressions, a lot of which seem to involve confusion and vulnerability.

 _“_ You—you still want this? Even though you don’t remember me?”

Woozi stares back, making no effort at all to mask the raw tumult of feeling in his chest. He reaches up tentatively, brushes the pads of his fingers over the slope of Seungcheol’s cheek.

“I may not remember the things you want me to as Jihoon. But I know who you are _now_ as Woozi, and I want you all the same.”

There's no confusion on the Prince's face now. Just a barely contained hunger as he crushes their mouths together again.

The third kiss is as gentle as the first, as eager as the second. A middle ground of desire and control as heat and need twine between them, an almost tangible force.

Woozi thrills at the slide of their naked skin and arches beneath Seungcheol's weight, greedy for friction. 

Seungcheol curses and curls over him, burying his face against Woozi's neck.

“What else do you want?” He murmurs, tongue tracing the curve of Woozi's ear.

Woozi doesn't bother trying to answer in words—he doesn’t know how to explain it anyway. Instead he covers Seungcheol's hand on his chest, and after barely a second's pause, guides the touch lower.

They reach the erect length of Woozi’s cock, but Woozi guides Seungcheol’s hand down further, past his balls to his ass. Seungcheol's fingers obey nimbly at his urging, and then,  _then_  Seungcheol is pressing a spit-slick finger inside of him and Woozi is swearing out loud and pressing down into that perfect point of contact.

He thinks Seungcheol is watching him with wide eyes, but it's hard to tell through the flood of ' _Yes, fuck, yes_ ' in his head.

His breath comes in a choked gasp, and his whole body tries to arch off the floor. He doesn't get far—not with Seungcheol's weight still pinning him down and Seungcheol's hand still bracing him at the hip—but the pleasure is instant and overwhelming, and in a disconnected corner of his brain Woozi realizes Seungcheol is pressing his finger even deeper. He's stroking Woozi somewhere deep and intimate, in a way that's skilled and clever and making Woozi's stomach twist tight.

It takes Woozi a moment to realize his eyes are closed. Opening them requires monumental effort, and when he does he finds Seungcheol staring down at him.

Seungcheol's expression is rapt, his lips are parted, his eyes wide and stunned and hungry. He freezes when their gazes lock. His finger stills. He blinks and breathes in short, shallow breaths.

“Want me to keep going?”

“ _Yes_.” Woozi breathes.

Then something glints behind Seungcheol’s eyes—something mischievous and dangerous—and he withdraws, pulling his hand back. Then, before Woozi can protest his retreat, Seungcheol re-enters with a second finger beside the first.

Woozi  _knows_  he's swearing now.

He's gasping and cursing and shouting Seungcheol's name as the Prince's fingers work him open.

The world has gone blurry, held together by nothing but the weight of Seungcheol's eyes, the weight of his hand on Woozi's hip, the sensation of Seungcheol's fingers twisting and stroking inside him.

Fuck, he doesn’t think he’s ever been touched like this before—but there’s something wonderfully familiar about the ache.

Woozi's just figuring out how to focus through the onslaught of sensation—just beginning to wonder if he can muster the coordination to drag Seungcheol down and kiss him—when Seungcheol's fingers brush against a spot inside that sends a sharp jolt of pleasure through him.

Woozi cries and arches beneath Seungcheol's weight. He's only peripherally aware of anything beyond that point of contact: of his chest rising and falling in ragged pants, his hands clutching at Seungcheol's biceps

He sees a flash of stars, only it turns out it's not stars at all, it's a glowing pattern of dots and swirls pulsing white hot and golden along the skin of his arms. He wonders if he’s imagining them, because when Seungcheol draws back he looks at Woozi without any surprise on his face.

He doesn’t have time to consider the strange pattern growing over his limbs, because Seungcheol hits that spot again (deliberately this time), and Woozi chokes a wild sound. He’s bucking beneath Seungcheol, hands scrambling for purchase, one sliding into Seungcheol's hair and the other to grasp at the bunching muscles of his back.

Fuck—Seungcheol’s fingers inside him feel amazing.

But it's still not enough.

It's close, god it's close.

Seungcheol's mouth is at Woozi's throat now, rough kisses that are as much teeth as tongue and Woozi could get off on this if he put half a mind to it. But the idea of having Seungcheol pressing _something_ else inside him is making his breath come in ragged gasps. He feels lightheaded, and his skin tingles everywhere with the crushing volume of  _want_  in his blood.

He lets go of Seungcheol's arms to close his hand around the Prince's heated flesh. A soft murmur of pleasure tells him it is the right thing to do.

“Fuck, _yeah_ —just like that.” Seungcheol says, breathless and quiet as Woozi trails his fingers up his length—finally capturing the flare of the head between thumb and fingers, stroking just a little to feel the glide of loose foreskin.

Seungcheol’s hips nudge forward and Woozi parts his thighs further without conscious intent, but his brain catches up a moment later, and he knows how this works (at least in theory). He knows what the hot length of Seungcheol’s arousal is seeking between his thighs.

“Oh, fuck— _Cheol_.” Woozi murmurs brokenly, not bothering to pretend that it’s anything but a plea.

“What do you want?” Seungcheol murmurs, licking a stripe up Woozi's throat, biting at the trembling muscle.

Seungcheol’s cock is thick and hot in the loose curl of his hand, and Woozi groans his desires without shame. “Want it—you, inside me. _Please_.”

Seungcheol's fingers disappear from Woozi's ass, abruptly enough that Woozi breathes a startled, " _Ah_!" at the sensation, but the discomfort is short-lived.

Suddenly Seungcheol’s weight disappears and Woozi opens his eyes to find the Prince rifling around in his discarded clothing.

He’s searching for something, cursing when he can’t find it immediately.

“What are you looking for?” Woozi huffs.

“Found it!” Seungcheol announces cheerfully, holding up a small glass vial in his hand.

He moves to settle between Woozi’s legs again, and now Woozi can see clearly what he was searching for.

“You brought _oil_?” Woozi gasps, leaning up on his elbow.

He doesn’t know whether it’s good hindsight or devious planning on Seungcheol’s part.

Seungcheol stares between him and the bottle in his hands. “Yeah—but before you say anything, I wasn’t planning on anything happening tonight. I just—”

“—carry oil around with you _all_ the time?” Woozi finishes for him with an eyebrow arched high.

“No. I—uh.” Seungcheol trails off, scratching the back of his head. He looks vaguely guilty now. A flush is spreading down his chest and across his cheeks. He sits back on his haunches, shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, embarrassed.

Woozi smiles privately at the downward slope of the Prince’s brow.

Seungcheol’s pouting in a manner that Woozi has come to know well. The expression is still juvenile and unbecoming and makes him look like a very sad polar bear. Certainly nothing a future King should be wearing in public.

Woozi can only adore him for it.

With a frown fixed firmly on his face, Woozi reaches over and taps the bottle out of Seungcheol’s palm, uncorking it with his teeth.

“You _should_ be sorry—luring me into a dark cave to _deflower_ me.” He teases, even as he upends the bottle, pouring a generous amount of oil onto his fingers.

Seungcheol eyeballs him.

“No—no—I wasn’t thinking about it like that. I just—” His protests break off into a choked groan as Woozi wraps his now slick hand around his cock.

Woozi strokes it once, from root to tip, spreading the oil over the shaft, then pauses—leaving his hand there.

“Go on.” He prompts with a gentle squeeze. “You just _what_?”

“Fuck— _Jihoon_. You…can’t expect me to….talk….like this.” Seungcheol strains to say.

Woozi clucks his tongue reproachfully, but he grips Seungcheol again and begins to stroke slowly, so slowly, barely movement at all.

It’s unhurried and teasing, and Seungcheol’s hips start to follow his movement when his strokes begin to lengthen.

After a few more leisurely slides, Woozi pauses to circle his thumb over the swollen head, smearing the bead of come there.  

“I’m still waiting _your Majesty_. Explain yourself.”

Seungcheol practically _whines_.  

“What do you want me to say?” He asks, mouth and cheeks a hectic rose-red, eyes half-lidded and dark. “I’m desperate for you? I desire you? All these things you already know.”

Woozi smirks. “Yes, that much _is_ obvious. I would have expected a Prince such as yourself to disguise his desires more _effectively_.”

Seungcheol’s eyes close and his mouth opens as he shudders for air, “I can’t do that. Not with you.”

Woozi loosens his grip a little, letting Seungcheol thrust into the circle of his fist while panting softly. 

Seungcheol’s still on his knees, between his thighs, but his head is tilted up slightly as he rolls his hips. Woozi waits until Seungcheol’s cock-head flushes a beautiful red, then tightens his grip once more, stopping his movements.

With willed control he continues, “Give me one good reason why I should let you _deflower_ me.”

Seungcheol chuckles, hips twitching impatiently. “I think you’ll fine I’ve already succeeded in doing so.”

"And if you ever wish to do it again, I suggest you make it sound less like a prize to be won," Woozi says warningly.

“You’re right.” Seungcheol sighs.

His hand clamps down very gently around Woozi’s wrist, stilling Woozi’s minute strokes. “It’s not a prize—it’s an _honour_. One I probably don’t deserve. Even if you turn me away now, it won’t lessen my love for you. I am completely at your mercy.”

Woozi bites his lip to stifle a moan.

That admission shouldn’t be as effective as it is.

He’s tempted to keep this up all night, because Seungcheol’s quite spoilt—and it would serve him well not to get what he wants for once in his life. But as he watches the thick cock slide between his fingers, he knows he’ll be denying _himself_ tonight by denying the Prince.

“Hmm—I suppose that will _have_ to do.” Woozi drawls.

He lies back against the floor, his own cock curves towards his belly, dripping.

When Seungcheol braces himself on one arm and looks him in the eye, Woozi knows that this is finally it.

“Really?” Seungcheol asks quietly. There’s hunger flashing visibly in his eyes, and Woozi suspects his own look the same.

“Yes. _Really_.” Woozi smiles, using the hand already curled around Seungcheol's cock to guide him into place.

When Seungcheol's slick cock fills him, Woozi barely stifles a cry.

It's too much. God, it's so much more than the fingers Seungcheol had prepared him with.

Thank fuck Seungcheol thought to bring oil. He can’t imagine this would have been possible without it.  

This intrusion is so much bigger, thick and hot, equal parts pain and pleasure. Sensations so intense that Woozi is suddenly certain he will split apart.

Before he can decide whether or not to panic, he feels Seungcheol still inside him. The pain settles, a more manageable discomfort that shivers along his senses and leaves room for other details to reach him. His heart races at the heat of Seungcheol's body blanketing him, the softness of lips pressing eager kisses along his throat, the steady strength in hands holding him still.

"Do you need me to stop?" Seungcheol asks, and the question hits Woozi like a flame being blown out, steering his brain away from any hint of doubt.

"No," he gasps, bending his knees to either side of Seungcheol's hips—and then, when that doesn't feel emphatic enough, twining his legs up around Seungcheol's waist. Locking his ankles at the small of that broad back.

The movement jostles the hard cock inside him, and Seungcheol groans against his shoulder.

" _Jihoon_." The name breathes out soft as a prayer, low and helpless.

Seungcheol's tongue is in his mouth, rough and claiming, and somewhere even deeper Woozi feels the forceful thrust of Seungcheol's cock filling him to the hilt, Seungcheol's hips drawing back then snapping forward, jostling Woozi against the stone floor. 

When Seungcheol goes still inside him again, Woozi's muscles tighten and make both of them gasp.

He'd buck forward if he could—urge Seungcheol back into motion, but Seungcheol's body is unyielding weight above him, and Woozi's got nowhere near the physical strength necessary to make Seungcheol  _move_  when Seungcheol is determined to hold maddeningly still.

He's stubborn and motionless, buried to the hilt in the willing warmth of Woozi's body, and Woozi is struggling too hard for breath to voice any protest.

"Please. Look at me," Seungcheol says softly.

The plea startles Woozi, and he opens his eyes. He hadn't even realized they were closed.

Seungcheol moves, then. Slowly. He pulls halfway out of Woozi's body before pressing forward again. He keeps Woozi from hurrying him with a commanding hand on Woozi's hip, impossible strength holding him immobile as Seungcheol's cock slides back into him by maddening degrees.

When he's got no deeper to go, he does it again. He doesn't speed his pace.

Seven thrusts he completes that way, never breaking eye contact.

Eight, and Woozi can feel tremors beginning to shake through his body as desperation settles beneath his skin.

Nine, and he thinks he can see frantic need struggling in Seungcheol's eyes, warring with the careful control measuring his movements.

Ten, and that frantic need snaps free. Seungcheol surges forward, movements going suddenly savage. He finds a fast, rough rhythm, and Woozi doesn't have a chance to meet it as Seungcheol's weight bears him down.

Seungcheol's hands grasp at him, bruising Woozi's thighs, his hips as Seungcheol guides Woozi's legs over his shoulders—as he thrusts deeper, harder, and makes Woozi accommodate every greedy inch of his cock.

Woozi's not complaining—he’s tosses his head back and forth, clings to Seungcheol without shame, too overwhelmed to offer anything like resistance as Seungcheol's hips snap forward.

“Want to finish inside you this time.” Seungcheol gasps against his collarbone, “Want everyone to know who you belong to.”

Woozi squeezes his eyes shut as Seungcheol's words send a fresh swell of arousal through him. He wonders if he could come just from the sound of Seungcheol's voice—just from the things Seungcheol is saying, the promise poured into every word.

He probably could. He's damn close right now. They both are—mounting towards something dangerous and inescapable—something they can never take back.

He swallows hard and struggles to find his voice—to find some semblance of control despite the rush of desire spiralling through him. He's too busy falling apart, release hitting him like a torrent of raw pleasure as he spills between their bodies.

“Cheol!”

Seungcheol isn't long behind him.

Two, three, four thrusts later and the Prince is collapsing heavily atop him, spilling deep and hot, and Woozi's still-twitching hole feels like it is milking as much from him as it possibly can.

Woozi thinks it's his name he hears Seungcheol gasp, but he's still riding too high to be sure of anything beyond the overwhelming racket of sensation pouring through his body.

Fuck, at this rate Woozi's not sure he'll ever come back down.

* * *

 

Woozi wakes without opening his eyes, and his head is resting on something comfortable. Fingers card through his hair in a shockingly familiar gesture. But Seungcheol must guess he's conscious somehow, despite Woozi's efforts to go unnoticed, because the fingers disappear.

"How do you feel?" Seungcheol's voice asks, and Woozi opens his eyes.

He finds he's draped over Seungcheol’s body, head resting on his shoulder.

He props himself on one elbow so he can look Seungcheol in the eye.

“Uhm—fine.”

Seungcheol arches his eyebrows. “Ouch. _Just_ fine?”

Woozi huffs a quiet laugh and drops his head onto Seungcheol’s shoulder again, nuzzling against his throat. " _Amazing_.”

“That’s better.” Seungcheol smiles, fingers returning to card through his hair.

There's something reassuring, even satisfying in the way Seungcheol can't seem to stop touching him. Besides, the wandering touch feels nice, and Woozi breathes a contented sound, curling even closer.

He’s not sure exactly how much time has passed, and he doesn't particularly want to know. He'd rather not think about the encroaching sunrise, or how soon they’ll have to part ways.

“How long have we been here?” He murmurs quietly into Seungcheol’s collar.

“A few hours.”

Woozi winces.

His hand moves before he speaks. He reaches up to touch Seungcheol's chest, fingers playing in idle, fascinated patterns over firm muscle. “Sorry. You must be so uncomfortable, letting me use you like a bed.”

Seungcheol's eyes fall to the place where Woozi's hand is touching him, then return to Woozi's face. There's a sated contentment in his expression, a quietly satisfied look that goes a long way towards quelling Woozi's fear that they took things too far.

“No, I’m fine.” He smiles, smoothing a reassuring hand along the length of Woozi’s spine. “We stayed out here all night once, till the sun rose. Just like this.”

Woozi hums a contented sound and burrows closer. “Hmm. That sounds nice.”

Seungcheol’s breath ruffles his hair when he says. “It was perfect. As is this.”

They remain there a while longer, basking in the moment and each other’s touch until the first hints of dawn light the cave.

Woozi sits up slowly now, stretches and feels the lethargy leaving his bones. He turns when he's upright, still crowded into Seungcheol's space.  “We should return. Jisoo will be knocking on your chamber door soon, expecting you to rise and begin your duties.”

“Yes, you’re right. I must seek an audience with my father the moment he wakes. There is much to discuss and plan.” Seungcheol says. Something gleeful in his eyes draws Woozi up short.

Woozi considers him silently for a moment, gauging and quiet, and finally says, “For the ball?”

“Oh, no—not that.” Seungcheol shakes his head, smiling. He dips down to capture Woozi’s lips in a sweet kiss. “For our wedding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Part two of the update.   
> 2) It was a little delayed as the editing tool longer than expected.   
> 3) I was trying to write Woozi in a way that shows he's growing in confidence. I'm not sure how well that came across. As a Merboy he was quite naïve, and his experience on land, even though he's lost his memories, are meant to mature him a little more. I didn't want him to come across as someone Seungcheol could take advantage of basically.   
> 4) Hope you enjoyed this mammoth update for now. It might be a while before I can update this again, because I'm working on a few other fics too.   
> Let me know what you think! Feedback always appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Yes, I started another fic.  
> 2) Yes, I will be updating all my other fics. I just--really wanted to get this out.  
> 3) Inspired by. [This fanart](https://twitter.com/sc0upsw00zi/status/916320142346264577?s=09)  
> and. [this fanart](https://twitter.com/woozyforwoozi/status/904233353016090624)  
> 4) Yes...it's going to get smutty.  
> 5) Hope you enjoy! Feedback always appreciated!


End file.
